


Heart-Shaped Potato Prints

by louisnoel



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, ship that definitely needs more love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisnoel/pseuds/louisnoel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire Emblem Awakening Modern AU. Inigo's class goes to see a poetry slam several towns over and Owain is one hell of a poetry slammer. Expect lots of memes and references you might or might not get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gerome is a master of the holy art of twisting and around-turning and Inigo experiences black magic third-hand.

Inigo liked going to school. He didn't even know why: He never had the best grades because he daydreamed a lot (especially about the odd beautiful girl he'd met in the middle of the street, or on the bus, or somewhere else, and totally neglected to tell each one how he felt. Inigo couldn't help himself; he was one of the poor suckers who fell in love at first sight. Every single time.). He was shy around other people and despite his mum telling him again and again that he'd have to get over his crippling anxiety, he simply was not able do it. Still, he had made a grand total of two friends at his new school during the last month, and their Homeroom and Literature teacher, even though he was strict, always took his time after class to answer his students' individual questions.

At the moment, he was making his way to his class on Literature, carrying his books and notes against his chest, humming softly as he walked through the hallway. He didn't possess the best singing voice (it sounded too nasal for his own liking) but having been rick-rolled seven times during the last 24 hours did that to you.

"You're too gullible," someone said from behind him but still loudly enough that Inigo heard. He turned around to see Gerome nod at him.

Inigo just beamed. "Hey, Gerome."

"You're mispronouncing my name yet again," the other boy muttered. "It's _Gerome_ , with a French G."

"Like in..." Inigo hummed a little more while he thought of a good example, then almost dropped his books because he wanted to snap his fingers. "Gourmet!"

"No, like the G in garage."

"Garage. Gourmet. The G's the same." When Gerome turned away, anger obvious to anyone, Inigo chimed in, "You realise I didn't pick French for a reason. I can't pronounce a single word."

"You're not even trying."

"Maybe." Inigo shrugged and laughed. Gerome regarded him a little uncertainly, then cracked the smallest of smiles. "Did you do the assignment?" Inigo asked when they started walking again.

"I have better things to do than waste my time reading a novel about what's it like to be a student at high school."

"Phrased like this, it sure makes a certain amount of sense."

Gerome snorted. "What about you? Did you do it?"

"I... forgot." Inigo sheepishly glanced over to Gerome. He wasn't telling him the whole truth and hoped the other boy wouldn't notice. As it was, his friend wasn't even looking his way, only staring straight ahead.

Inigo exhaled slowly, releasing the breath he hadn't been aware of holding. He shifted the weight of his books so he could hold them with one hand and fiddle around with his earring with the other one. Yes, he considered Gerome his friend, but he wasn't about to ruin it by telling him he danced professionally. He planned to follow in his mum's footsteps, dreamt of becoming a dancing instructor and teaching others. It made Inigo relax, just losing himself in the music and his movements, even if it was _Never Gonna Give You Up_ blaring through his speakers for the seventh time that day.

He must have started humming again, as Gerome groaned like he was in physical pain. "Why?" the redhead asked, looking at the ceiling.

"Don't you know what it's like to have a tune stuck in your head?"

"I'm asking, 'Why does it have to be this atrocious internet meme?'"

"Noire is excellent at disguising her true intentions," Inigo answered, opening the door to the room their next class would be held in with his free hand.

"And here I am, repeating myself: You're too gullible." Gerome turned his back and entered.

* * *

The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue today, light and still deep. Not a single cloud was in sight, the sun shone strongly, the birds chirped as they buzzed over the horizon. And what did Inigo do? Sigh as he remembered more than vividly the last time he had been turned down.

"Are you still with us?" Inigo looked up to the broad built of his Literature teacher. He had never seen the man smile. Hell, he hadn't even heard him mention his name.

Despite it all, Inigo managed a smile. "Yes. Never been gone." His left hand shot up to the comforting feeling of his earring.

"That's excellent because then you might remember what I've told the class." Inigo gulped but still kept smiling. "Let me rephrase this: You _should_ remember what I've told the class because it concerns _you_ , as well."

Inigo glanced to his right where Gerome sat on the far end of the room. The redhead didn't notice Inigo's desperate plea for help and kept playing with his phone. Another peek behind himself revealed Noire drawing something in her textbook with the most horrifying expression Inigo had ever seen on her face. He didn't want to know what made her smile with so much manic self-satisfaction and glee.

His head snapped back to his teacher. "Can you enlighten me, please?" Inigo asked with a sheepish grin. He felt stupider than ever before in this moment, even more so because a small wave of laughter erupted around him. The look of utter disappointment with no hint of anger whatsoever on his teacher's face didn't help matters. "I'm sorry. I... had things on my mind."

"It's good to see that you _are_ thinking," the class laughed a little louder now, "but." The man looked around the room, and it went quiet at once. "I am afraid you are supposed to think about school-related matters at school, and I have the strong impression that you weren't."

Inigo shook his head. "I-I can explain, though!"

"Save it." Arms crossed behind his back, the teacher walked back to his desk before turning around. "You're lucky, though, Inigo, because I can tell you all about it during detention."

"Aw, really?"

The man nodded once and went back to his lesson. Inigo made sure to pay attention now but he didn't learn anything about what he had supposedly missed.

* * *

"Way to go."

Inigo was slumped over his desk and groggily met Gerome's eye. "It's _Ini_ go."

The other boy turned to gaze out of the window. "Don't be such a hypocrite."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means," Gerome shifted again to study his friend, "don't go around and tell people to pronounce your name correctly if you can't pronounce theirs."

Inigo gaped. It was plain unfair how Gerome seemed to be able to turn almost everything he said back around to make him look stupid. It was just as unfair that wherever they went, girls turned around, smiled, waved. At Gerome. Inigo, though, they evaded him like he was contagious to the presence.

"Anyway, I only wanted to tell you that I can bail you out of detention."

Inigo gaped on. He didn't understand what went through Gerome's head _at all_.

"It won't work if you're stuck imitating a blowfish."

"I-I'm...!" The boy took a deep breath and finally managed to close his mouth. He put on a smile instead, the one he'd been practising in front of a mirror for hours on end until he deemed it perfect. Gerome frowned, but Inigo made sure not to falter. "I'm listening."

"You better are." Gerome's gaze shifted back to the window. "Mr. Shaffer talked about the field trip in the first half of his lesson." Inigo raised his hand. "What?"

"First: Who's Mr. Shaffer?"

"Our Lit and Homeroom teacher. Frederick Shaffer. Dude, don't tell me you didn't know _that_."

Inigo smiled. "I won't. You can do all the thinking." Gerome grimaced like he was in pain. The other boy took this as a hint to go on. "Second: What's this about a field trip?"

"Your ticket to freedom."

"Can you, like, not speak in riddles for once?" Inigo was close to pouting although he tried his best to hold on to his smile.

"If you can convince Mr. Shaffer that you _do_ know what all this field trip business is about, he might let you off the hook. I'm sure he'd appreciate not wasting his time by lecturing you about it after his regular working hours."

Inigo beamed up at his friend. "You're a hero! You'd just need a mask coveri--"

"One more word and I'm leaving." Eyes widening, Inigo nodded. "We, meaning this class, are going on an official field trip on Friday the 16th. That's three days and two weeks from now. We'll be meeting in front of the school's main entrance at eight sharp. In the morning. By the way, I'd advice you to take notes, knowing you're suffering from amnesia."

Inigo wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak now, but keeping his mouth shut for over one minute at a time (when he was mentally present anyway) proved harder than he had thought. "R-Right." He pulled his notebook and a pen out of his school bag. "Sorry, I'm aware I'm not supposed to say anything."

"Yeah, so stop talking and start writing already. I won't repeat myself." Nodding in a way that was closer to a head-bang than an actual nod, Inigo showed his affirmation before he scrawled something into his notebook. Gerome frowned at Inigo's not very neat (meaning horrendous) handwriting but chose not to comment. Instead, he went on with his explanation. "We'll take a bus to Toronto, that's about two hours from here. There's a poetry slam organised and hosted by a local high school, and that's exactly why we're going on a field trip. To see a fucking poetry slam."

"Uh, if you don't mind me asking," Inigo said as he furiously took notes, "what's a poetry slam? Is it, like, people go on a stage and pretend to be Shakespeare?"

Gerome sighed. "It's a ridiculous farce you summed up quite accurately."

Inigo actually liked the idea of people battling each other in duel of lyrics a lot. He couldn't see why Gerome always had to call everything he didn't volunteer to do a waste of time. But he wasn't about to voice his thoughts. "Just pretend to be sick that day. Then you won't have to go."

"This may very well be the first acceptable idea you've had all year."

Inigo half-snorted before mimicking Gerome with a sarcastic undertone. "Why, thank _you_ , because this may very well be the first compliment you've ever given anyone!"

"Enjoy your 15 minutes of fame." Gerome smiled at him, turned and left. Inigo watched him go, too baffled to do anything. He wondered _if_ they really were friends, and if they were, then how it had come to be.

* * *

Someone cleared their throat with such a force as to startle Inigo into waking up. His back hurt from slouching over his desk again (he made a mental note to bring a pillow with him next time). He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and became more than alert when he finally registered his Literature teacher standing right in front of him.

"Good afternoon," Inigo greeted, putting on one of his best smiles, "Mr. Shaffer." His voice was dripping with pride. That ought to leave a good impression, right?

"Inigo." His teacher nodded once. "Waking up fast is a good ability to possess."

The boy blinked. He hadn't expected to be praised. "Th-Than--"

"Falling asleep on school grounds, on the other hand, isn't." Inigo was close to stuttering out an excuse of some sort, but Mr. Shaffer spoke before he got the chance to. "It's just as bad as looking out the window and being caught up in a daydream. Those ways, you're not paying attention, and this is something we have to work on. At least we should, in case failing is not what you've been aiming for all this time."

Inigo needed a few seconds to process this word wall. "It's not..." He touched his earring, twisting his thumb and forefinger around the metalwork. "I'm sorry I'm such a lousy student! I really am. But! I've caught up! I know what was so important during your class earlier."

"Oh?" Mr. Shaffer raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell."

After rummaging through his unorganised backpack for a few seconds that felt like minutes under the unfaltering gaze of his teacher, Inigo pulled out the notes he'd taken earlier. He had to straighten the sheet that had ended up crumpled by accident a few times before he squinted at his hieroglyphs. He read it over once before he summarised what he'd written down. "Apparently, there's a field trip next month on the 16th, and we're going to Toronto to see a poetry slam."

When Inigo looked up from his notes, his hand rested against his earring again. Mr. Shaffer looked at him with both eyebrows raised now, and a professional smile spread across his face. "Colour me surprised. Tell me, though, why would I arrange to watch a poetry slam of all things with you?"

This was it, Inigo knew. All or nothing. The question whose answer would decide whether he was a free man or a prisoner, trapped inside the school building and wasting away, on such a beautiful summer day no less. It all reminded him of a horror movie he'd watched a few months ago even though the rating read R, and now he regretted having done this more than ever.

It seemed like his life was flashing right before his eyes. And it was funny to him, it really was, because there were so many answers right before him and he'd just have to reach out and pick the right one. Doing nothing would be just as bad as choosing a wrong one. Inigo took a deep breath and let his mouth do the work for him. He didn't want to be such a drama queen about this. "It's gotta do something with your class. Th-The field trip." Inigo gulped, collected himself. Stammering now could make him lose his thread, and so far Mr. Shaffer hadn't interrupted him. "The field trip strengthens the bonds among the class, and of course it's related to the cur-cu-- It's related to what we'll cover next in class."

"You seem to be guessing."

"I-I wasn't." Mr. Shaffer didn't need to do anything but stare him down. Inigo had to avert his eyes. "Okay, I kinda was."

His teacher put on another one of those strict smiles. "Lady Luck is with you today after all. The trip is supposed to enhance the class's cultural knowledge and enlighten you to the beauty of poetry." Mr. Shaffer nodded to himself. "I'll make this short: Detention is over."

All the tension fled Inigo's body, and he wasn't able to sit up straight any longer. His head hit his desk with a thud, and it hurt, badly even, but the boy couldn't keep from laughing. He was _free_.

* * *

"So, what d'ya say to the field trip?" Inigo asked, his laptop the only source of light in his room. He laid sprawled out over his bed, lying on his tummy, and skyping with Noire. (Inigo obviously wasn't aware that he'd be almost impossible to see this way, and Noire was too shy to tell him.)

The girl glanced to her side as she answered. Inigo couldn't make out much more than a stretch of wall behind her, plastered with posters of men Inigo had never seen before. "I'm not sure. I've never been to a poetry slam before." She turned to look back at the screen.

"Me neither. But! I googled for slam poetry and the stuff can be really funny!" He grinned with excitement. "Also, no school for the whole day, _and_ we're going to the big city!"

"I see you're looking forward to it." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"Aren't you now?"

Noire again looked to her side. Something awfully interesting must be there, Inigo mused. "I'm... I'm not sure. What if we have to fill out a form for Mr. Shaffer o-or answer a pop quiz afterwards?"

"What, you scared of not paying attention?" Inigo grinned, Noire nodded. "This should be my line! You didn't notice Mr. Shaffer calling me out during class today?"

Noire's eyes widened in surprise and she looked back at the screen. "H-He did?"

Inigo laughed nervously. "Oh yeah, you were busy drawing in your textbook..."

"Uh..." Noire leaned closer to the screen and the camera, but averted her eyes again. In a whisper, she said, "I wasn't drawing. It's... It was supposed to be a spell. I tried to hex someone."

"Wait a sec." Now this definitely caught Inigo off-guard. "What's hexing someone?"

"I-I... It's, uh, putting a c-curse on someone..." Her voice grew steadily quieter.

Inigo's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, wow. Like, I'm not sure what to say."

"I-I can explain! So, uh, there was this guy I liked in middle school and h-he found out and he made fun of me and his friends did, too, and I got SO ANGRY," her voice sounded close to a growl, and she spoke so loud it appeared as if she was screaming, "a-and I ran into him by chance yesterday and my MUM CONCOCTED _THE_ PLAN SO SHE SHOWED ME HOW TO TAKE REVENGE."

Inigo hadn't noticed himself physically retreating from his laptop but here he was, pressed against his wall like the butterfly he had tried to catch but, by accident, ended up killing when he was in elementary school. He slowly made his way back, crawling on all fours. "You know what they say, sweet revenge..." He emitted another nervous-sounding laugh.

Inigo didn't believe in curses, magic, and the likes. He viewed himself as a pretty down-to-earth guy. Science was beautiful in his eyes and it explained so many mysteries he'd struggled to understand during his childhood. So hearing Noire talk about how she -- what did she call it again? -- hexed someone because of some grudge and her mother's suggestion was something he had a hard time coping with. Inigo _knew_ Noire suffered some condition or other that caused her to develop a split personality but at least that could be explained away.

Long story short, Inigo hoped this hexing business turned out to be just another form of bullshittery and wouldn't work.

Noire let out one of the maddest sounding set of giggles Inigo had ever had the pleasure of hearing (the other mad giggles he'd heard so far also originated from Noire) before she snapped back to her usual self. "S-So, uh, yeah. Thanks for not judging me... I-I guess..."

"I-It's no problem, really. Don't worry about it." Inigo flashed her his best smile even though he still felt the shudders working through his body. Everything about this conversation had turned a special brand of awkward.

"I-It's probably for the best i-if I go now..." Noire muttered.

At first, Inigo wanted to protest, but he didn't know how to un-awkward-ify this conversation, and on top of that, it was already past 1 a.m. Class would begin in a few hours and he wouldn't be able to catch enough sleep even if he fell asleep right now. He settled on, "It's gotten _really_ late anyway, so let's call it a day." Noire just bobbed her head in reply. "Uh, good night. See you tomor-- today!"

"R-Right. Bye." Before Inigo could react, Noire had already logged off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is put on a bus and Inigo goes to la la land.

Inigo's iPod was turned up so loud that his ears would be ringing as soon as he pulled the earplugs out. He didn't notice anything around him anymore. This led to him almost being run over at least twice by cars and once by a bike (when he strayed from the path and walked in the biker's lane, his bad). Inigo didn't understand why the people around him were getting so worked up by these little mishaps. It made him think of that other meme Noire had quoted at him all the time for at least two weeks before dropping it and never mentioning it again.

"I came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now."

He turned the corner where Gerome was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed. He reminded Inigo of that blond dude with the spiky hair from that insanely popular video game everyone wanted Inigo to play. He wasn't about to admit that he didn't play video games, much less owned a console.

Inigo pulled out his earbuds. He grinned at Gerome until the redhead said, "Please tell me you did not actually say this out loud."

"Say what out lou-- Oh! Yeah okay, I won't say I did." Inigo's grin broadened. Gerome didn't answer, just pushed himself away from the wall and started walking towards the school. Inigo took a few long strides to catch up to his friend. "By the way, you're here. Like, you're not feigning sickness."

"No, I'm not."

"This was supposed to be a question."

Gerome shrugged. "It sounded like a statement to me."

"Okay, Mr. I-Can-Do-Anything-Better-Than-You," Inigo made sure to sing that "name", "why are you here and not in your bed?"

"I'm not feeling sick." Inigo had never suffered from the urge to face palm himself as badly as he did right then and there. Gerome chuckled, much to Inigo's surprise. "You're easy."

"It's 'You're simple', which, by the way, I'm not, you French turnip."

Gerome's expression went back to his usual reserved frown. "First: I'm neither French nor a turnip. Second: I meant it as in, 'You're easy to wrap around my finger'."

"That sounds gay, dude."

"I'm sorry if your first time experiencing the art of flirting has to be through your misinterpretation of a normal conversation with me." They rounded another corner and the school building came into view. It was just one block away now.

"Hey! I've flirted plenty!" Inigo increased his walking pace and left Gerome no other choice than to match him.

"I wouldn't call staring at the ladies with your tongue tied and barely managing to whistle at them 'flirting'." Gerome shrugged. "But whatever floats your boat."

Inigo's mouth scrunched up in irritation. "Don't talk like you're any better at it! I've never even seen you try."

"I already have a girlfriend."

"Yeah, right," Inigo snorted. When Gerome didn't react in any way, Inigo asked, "You _are_ kidding, aren't you?"

"Why would I?"

"Because it'd be _so_ unfair! Every single girl we meet already pays _you_ way more attention than me. But! It turns out you already _have_ a girl!"

Gerome was quiet for a while. The last thing Inigo expected him to do, however, was turning his words around once _again_. "I don't _have_ a girl, I don't own her."

* * *

The bus was late. Gerome turned out to be good at making Inigo look stupid today, too, so Inigo decided to listen to some more music. He felt the urge to dance a little to the poppy beats of his Britney Spears playlist but decided on mere hopping around. A boy about his age passing him pointed at him and said, "Mentally handicapped," but Inigo couldn't read lips at all. Perhaps the boy had just said, "I bet he likes Mudkips."

Yeah, Inigo decided, he liked these cute little critters. Blue was easily one of his favourite colours anyway. Good thing Noire had sent him pictures of virtually any Pokémon there was (and not to forget the catchy Pokémon Rap featuring the 700-something monsters), or he wouldn't have understood what that boy had meant.

Eventually, the bus rounded the corner. Inigo pulled out his earbuds because Mr. Shaffer called for the class's attention, and that Should Not Be Ignored Under Any Circumstances.

"This is our bus," he said, crossing his arms behind his back. "Mr. Novikov will be driving. Please listen to his instructions after you have entered one by one. As long as Mr. Novikov does not voice a different opinion, you may sit where you choose."

Despite Mr. Shaffer's words, most students of the class tried to squeeze in through the doors simultaneously. Shoving and shouting ensued, and Inigo waited for the childish ruckus to pass before he stepped in. He glanced around while walking through the bus, trying to find either Gerome or Noire. The boy let out a startled, "Huh?", as he was pulled to the side by his hoodie's hood. He turned around and met Noire's eyes. The window seat next to her was still unoccupied. She must have done that on purpose to let Inigo sit next to her. He grinned in gratitude and said, "Hey. And thanks." Noire got up and Inigo made himself comfortable between the window and his friend.

"Yeah, hi," Noire greeted. It was hard to hear over the general noise of the whole class.

Before Inigo could initiate a little deeper conversation, there was crackling static, then a deep voice with a Russian accent said, "Has everyone butt on seat, yes?" The class cheered. "Me, Gregor is. If you have problem, go to Gregor. If you have other problem, go to toilet. Toilet is in bus hallway, next to door. Gregor is driving bus. Easy to find." The man paused, let the class cheer a little more. "I forget to say," he said then, "please use seatbelt! Gregor go fast in bus."

As Inigo put his seatbelt on, he whispered, "This bus driver seems to be pretty cool."

"Why?" Noire asked.

"I dunno." Inigo shrugged. "He introduced himself with his first name and he's funny. So I'd say he's pretty laid back about a lot of things?"

Noire nodded. "Makes sense."

The whole bus rumbled and shook as Gregor (like hell was Inigo going to think of him as Mr. Novikov) started the ignition. Inigo glanced over to Noire, who was getting out her phone to browse 9gag or tumblr or wherever she got her expansive meme knowledge from, so he turned to look out of the window.

The scenery was nice, no question, but after about ten minutes Inigo started to become bored. He decided taking a nap now would be just what he needed, so he placed the pillow he had taken with him in his backpack on the window, leaned his head into the fluffy, soft thing and closed his eyes.

* * *

The volume in the bus increased to a level that was close to unbearable, moreso in the face of sleep. Groaning, Inigo opened his eyes. He had no idea where they were at all now; the cows grazing outside weren't a familiar sight and the commotion inside the bus was hard to ignore. "What's going on?" he asked Noire, suppressing another groan and reaching for his earring.

"I think there's a problem," she answered without looking up from her phone. "No one's confirmed anything, though."

Inigo sighed. Noire obviously had as little of an idea as he had. Fortunately, the static cackled, then Gregor spoke. "Gregor apologise! See, Gregor not English, yes? But, how you say? GPS?" The class cheered in agreement. "GPS is English, so Gregor sometimes have problem. Not often! Only today, Gregor go right instead of left! But will turn bus around so no problem!"

A girl shouted, "I knew something was off as soon as we left the highway!" More and more people in the bus started to talk.

More static, then Mr. Shaffer was on. "Please don't panic. We will still be able to make it on time. So, please, calm down, everyone."

"I sure hope we do," Inigo said, looking at Noire. Her eyes were fixated on her phone, fingers swiftly tapping away at the screen.

"I don't really get why you're so excited about this... th-this..."

"Poetry slam."

"Yeah."

"You already forgot how I told you I thought it'd be fun? And I don't know what it's gonna be like, so yes, I'm excited." Inigo glanced around the bus quickly. Everyone seemed to be preoccupied. "I'm sure I'm not the only one here," he said without much conviction.

"Only if you count Mr. Shaffer." She didn't look up from her phone, didn't even so much as show a little sign of this having been a joke.

"Thank you _so_ much for your sympathy, Noire." Inigo rolled his eyes. This conversation obviously wasn't going anywhere, so he tried a different approach. "What have you been doing on your phone all this time?"

"Playing QuizClash." Inigo leaned a little closer to her to watch her play. "Everyone always needs so long to answer, and after a few rounds no one dares challenge me anymore." Indeed, Noire answered as if this were a game in which reaction speed was of utmost importance, not getting the answer correct. Still, the screen lit up green after every answer she gave.

"I wonder why."

"Yeah, me, too. This game's not that hard."

"But it ceases to be fun if you're always losing."

"I never lose."

"That's the point I'm trying to make, though. If you never lose, then the one you're playing with can't win." Inigo leaned back into his seat and looked straight ahead. At the back of the seat in front of him. Whoops. He hoped Noire was still sucked into the realm of trivia and awkwardly redirected his gaze to the window. His earring felt comforting against his fingers. "Why are you so good at this game anyway?"

"I'm just good at remembering." Even though it turned out to be more uncomfortable than he had envisioned, Inigo still turned his head while having it rest on his hand. Combined with the bus's shaking, he could almost hear his elbow scream in protest. "Every time I get an answer wrong--"

"This is a thing that actually happens?"

Noire remained quiet for a bit. "Y-Yes..." She finished another batch of questions before giving him a little more elaborate answer. "S-So every time I get an answer wrong, I simply remember the correct answer."

Inigo sat up straight again, his elbow hurting so much now that he couldn't resist carefully touching it. "This is an awesome skill, though. It's, like, what's it called? Photographic memory?"

Noire shrugged. "I-I'm not a prodigy or anything. I'm just... good at remembering."

Inigo caught on that she didn't want to talk about this so he tried to strike up yet another conversation topic. "Is this quiz game all you play?"

"No... It's not more than a good way to kill time." Noire surprised Inigo by putting her phone away and looking at him shyly. "Actually, it's getting boring."

Inigo reached for his earring and put on a smile he hoped looked reassuring. He was convinced, though, that he was feeling just as awkward in this moment as Noire was. "So, uh," he started to say, his face growing hot with embarrassment, "uh, wanna do something else instead?"

"Sure." As soon as the single syllable had left her mouth, Noire pulled her phone out again. "Let's see..." She tapped on the screen. "Are you familiar with YTPs?"

Inigo mulled about this over, humming a little. It sounded like an abbreviation of something, but of _what_ posed a different question. "I don't think so," Inigo admitted. "Is it short for something?"

"YouTube Poops." Noire looked up from her phone and gave Inigo a once over. "Can you hand me your earplugs, please?"

"Sure." The boy pulled them out of his iPod and gave them to Noire. She immediately plugged them into her phone, gave Inigo one of the buds and pushed the other one into her ear. Inigo copied her.

"I'll show you some of my favourites. And," she went through her list of favourite videos, Inigo saw as she leant towards him to let him make out what was on her phone's screen more easily, "th-they might be a little loud at times so don't jump."

* * *

Static. "Bus is at... how you say? Destination, yes? I hope you had good time like Gregor. When we see each other again?" Mr. Shaffer leant towards Gregor and told him by which time the class would probably have gotten back to the bus. "In five hour! Now, hurry, you not want to miss show!" Gregor made some shooing motions and parts of the class erupted into laughter.

Noire was one of the people laughing as well. Or, on second thought, scratch that. She wasn't laughing as much as she was giggling maniacally. She left her seat, holding her stomach, giggling on with her face stretched into a mad mask. Everyone made room for her.

Inigo wasn't sure if he should be glad Noire left him just like this. Lightly put, her split personality was unnerving him (read: freaking him out). Then again, it was probably the reason he could be normal friends with Noire without his libido ruining everything from the get-go. And crazy Noire could be fun, as well, as she had proved during their trip through YouTube. Yes, these YouTube Poops (and Yu-Go-Oh! The Abridged Series, Inigo remembered fondly) had managed to pull this part out of her, laughing louder than everyone else on the bus combined (sans Gregor perhaps) and shrieking with delight whenever her favourite parts of the videos came up.

After the bus had emptied quite a bit, Inigo grabbed his pillow and stuffed it in his backpack. He reached for his earbuds and plugged them back into his iPod. The boy hummed under his breath as he left the bus.

Outside, Mr. Shaffer was waiting, motioning his class to form a circle around him so that every student would be able to hear him. After everyone had gathered to the teacher's content, he spoke. "We'll now go to the high school which is holding the poetry slam. We don't have a lot of time left until it starts, but our seats are reserved. However, this is not an acceptable excuse for walking slowly."

Mr. Shaffer turned around and started striding at a respectable pace. The students standing behind him parted to make way, then followed their teacher. Inigo pulled out his iPod because another round of well-deserved Taylor Swift was in store for him now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gerome and Inigo turn into criminals and there is mention of potatoes, but not of molasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I said Owain is "one hell of a poetry slammer", I can assure you that I, the author, am not. I did write a poem, but it's obvious that I didn't have a clue about what I was doing. Moreover, I'm not a native English speaker... What I want to say is, please keep reading for one narm-fest of a poem!

Inigo yawned again. He'd suppressed so many yawns already that he had lost count (yes, he'd started counting them when he yawned for the fourth time). He had prepared several excuses, in case Mr. Shaffer would pay him attention (wherever the teacher was; Inigo didn't see him anywhere). Or to keep himself occupied and awake. Inigo couldn't decide which explanation he liked better.

As it was, the poetry slam turned out to be an underwhelming disappointment. So far, the contestants were more or less motivated high schooler students in their junior year, and even the best of them either had mediocre slams to present or presented slams mediocrely.

Most of them also suffered from nervosity somewhere between reasonable stage fright and not even showing up (the audience was _huge_ after all; Inigo had stopped counting after he had reached 1000, and yes, he had been counting other things before his yawns due to boredom). Another huge fraction of the slammers hadn't even prepared their own poems, just read their favourite passages from either Homer (at least not in Ancient Greek), John Milton or Bo Burnham.

Then there was the hard-to-ignore fact that Gerome had kidnapped Inigo's pillow to catnap. They were sitting next to each other, and Inigo had hoped for some sort of sarcastic and funny commentary from the redhead. But instead, he was sitting there, leaned back, and enjoying the release granted by sweet sleep. Or he was just pretending to sleep, but either way he was out of the picture.

A person sat to his right as well, but Inigo didn't know them. They might be a woman in their 50s, he assumed. He felt bad for not being able to tell their sex, and this fact alone intimidated Inigo into not being able to chat a little with them. They seemed more interested in the slam than he himself was, anyway, and he might make them angry by annoying them with his chatter.

So the only thing he could do from losing his sanity was taking his mind somewhere else. Fumbling around his pants pockets, Inigo took out his iPod again, put his whole music library on shuffle and closed his eyes to the music turned up so loud as to mute out everyone around him. This way he wouldn't fall asleep but at least he would at least experience something worthwhile. The first song _had_ to be Queen's _I Want To Break Free_ , the irony painting a smile on his lips.

* * *

Inigo should have seen it coming but he hadn't. He sat up straight with a start and hoped no one else could hear _The Internet Is for Porn_ blaring through his earbuds at full volume. In a haste, he shut off his iPod, pulled out his earbuds and held his ears because they rang and hurt. It took him a minute or two of awkward blushing and throbbing ears to calm down. He looked up just in time to see someone exit the stage.

There came an announcement from the other school's teacher who was responsible for organising and hosting this event. Inigo couldn't tell from the distance, but the man seemed to always have his eyes closed and he looked like he was perpetually smiling. How he knew where he stepped when not being able to see anything was another thing Inigo couldn't tell, as well as why this teacher seemed to be so cheerful. Did he enjoy watching the masses suffer? "Our last contestant will give you a special delivery I'm certain you're all already dying to hear!" He giggled a little and Inigo was sure this person had some sort of problem that ran way deeper than Noire's.

When the last contestant entered the stage, Inigo knew at once that _this_ was it -- the main spectacle, the grand finale. Shoulders squared, hair unkempt and sticking out a little to the left, a tall blond guy walked up to the microphone. Inigo leaned forward, cheeks growing hot and eyes sparkling with interest. Even though the slam had been on the low end of mediocre so far, the promise that something amazing was about to happen seemed to affect the whole audience; everyone around Inigo stared at the newcomer in anticipation.

The blond guy proceeded to knock over the mic, causing it to roll next to a speaker and thereby producing a horrible, throbbing, high-pitched sound of interference. Inigo's hands slammed over his ears, and he felt one of the worst headaches he had ever suffered coming on. It was made even worse by the crazy cackle he still made out, amplified by the speakers. A glance to his left revealed Gerome merrily sleeping on (how he did, Inigo didn't know). Then, someone -- the other school's teacher -- picked up the microphone, giggled a not at all sincere sounding, "Sorry!" and handed the object of so much pain to the blond teenager.

"Yeah, right, an apology is in store," he said into the mic. Even from that far away, Inigo saw a blush creep up the blond's neck, colouring his cheeks a vivid shade of red. "Anyway, I am called Owain, the Scion of Legend." Inigo could almost hear the capitalised letters of this "title". He also felt a strong wave of second-hand embarrassment surging his way, but at the same time he was strangely fascinated with this Owain dude.

His mixed feelings about him only grew worse when Owain covered half his face with his right hand. "Is he all right?" Inigo whispered, more to himself than to Gerome, who still at least pretended to sleep with fierce determination.

"The following is my humble but fine submission, a radiant poetical masterpiece worthy of legend!" Inigo found himself leaning forward a little more. "I dubbed it, 'An Ode to Potatoes'."

Owain cleared his throat, then started his slam.

"Oh potatoes, there are so many kinds,   
"some are human, some are edible,   
"yes, that whoever in their right minds   
"would not think them quite incredible?"

"Let's talk about the human ones first,   
"as 'couch potatoes' usually known,   
"recognised by their laziness cursed.   
"Whenever they have to move they groan."

"But the edible ones I like most,   
"in uncountable ways to prepare.   
"Be it baked or boiled or fried or roast   
"potatoes, they taste great so beware."

"You don't know how good I'm with my pan,   
"you've never seen me use the oven.   
"It's not 'trash cannot', it's 'garbage can',   
"you're in for some potato lovin'!"

Inigo only noticed the absolute silence of the audience when Owain had finished. Everyone seemed to have listened, and now people started cheering and laughing. The silence from before was so noticeable because of the stark contrast the roaring audience was now creating. Inigo himself wasn't strong enough to resist the contagious laughter all around him, and he had to admit that that slam had had several advantages over the ones he had to listen to before.

Yes, there was no metre, but the poem rhymed and it was moderately funny. Not because of its content, no, but the whole idea to write a poem about _potatoes_ of all things was just absurd, and that was what made it funny. Furthermore, Owain spoke in a clear and free manner; he had learnt this poem by heart. And it was obviously his own creation. It was clear that he liked doing this -- writing poetry, coming up with both content and structure. After all, he was standing there on the stage and grinning like an idiot.

Now that he was thinking about it, Inigo realised how much of the performance depended solely on the person presenting their work, not the poem itself. Thoughts started revolving in his head so fast that he couldn't put them to words anymore. Before he knew it, his body moved, pushing him out of his seat and ever closer to the stage. His heart was hammering against his chest harder than ever before, his face must have reddened to a point where it clashed with his purplish hair, his mouth felt like he hadn't been drinking enough. He had never felt this way before and he didn't know what he was doing in the slightest. He only knew that he _had_ to talk to this Owain, even if he'd have to deal with detentions for the rest of his school career. It just felt like the right thing to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Inigo gets stitches and there is a reference to (but no direct mention of) a person whose last name is spelled "Ddantgwyn".

Storming through the audience wasn't the smartest idea Inigo had ever had. He not only collided with an elderly man once, but also made a spectacle of himself because aside from that old geezer he was the only person walking instead of remaining seated. Inigo didn't dare turning around (or looking anywhere but at the stage and at Owain) because he felt all the stares he attracted, and he was certain of Mr. Shaffer's being among them.

Owain was leaving the stage now, and the other school's teacher appeared once again to speak to the audience. He made his way towards the microphone which Owain had placed back in its stand after his performance. Inigo had to reach this teacher. Running as fast as he could without causing any major accidents, Inigo climbed onto the stage and approached the teacher.

"Sorry," Inigo said, heaving heavily because he was running out of breath. The white-haired teacher turned and smiled at him, eyes still closed. It crept Inigo out. "I-I need to talk to Owain. Like, really urgently."

"I can see you're dying to talk to him." When Inigo coughed in exhaustion, the man added, "Literally. Go on, you can still catch him if you go now."

With a weak, "Thanks," Inigo tried jogging off the stage looking casual. He failed, though, because not even three steps in, the most terrible stitches in his side he'd ever had made him gasp and almost fall to his knees. He opted on walking then instead, holding his left side as if this would somehow help make the pain go away.

At first, he didn't realise how lucky he was when he caught Owain just about ten metres from the stage's end. He was chatting with a beautiful girl sporting long, blue hair and a casual smile. Why Inigo didn't realise his luck boiled down to this little interaction he saw.

What if this was Owain's girlfriend?

But, wow, she was breathtaking and gorgeous. She turned with her smile, pointing at Inigo and saying something so low he couldn't make it out if he tried. He blushed, having the attention of her on him.

Or was it Owain's attention?

He'd never been so confused in his life.

It was too late to turn around and pretend nothing had happened, anyway. Also, Mr. Shaffer might be waiting with the most disappointed look ever on his face, and this was the last thing Inigo wanted to see right now. No, this posed the better alternative. Taking a deep breath, he approached the two of them.

"Are you all right?" the girl asked. Her voice complimented her eyes, sharp and clear. Her eyebrows drew down in concern. "You've been holding your side all this time. Do you need help?"

"N-No," Inigo stammered. "It's just sore muscles. It's gonna wear off eventually." He put on one of his smiles he'd practised hours on end for and hoped it looked sincere and reassuring. The girl inclined her head a little, and Inigo explained his being there. "I, uh, I just wanted to talk to," he looked up a little to meet Owain's eyes (how dare he top Inigo's height of 183 centimetres), "Owain."

Up close, Inigo could make out the slightly irritated skin where Owain must have shaved. His face was lightly freckled and Inigo wondered if there might be more freckles covered by his clothing.

He discarded this unfortunate train of thoughts when the girl turned around, nodded at Owain and said, "I'll talk to you later."

Owain nodded in response. "Take care."

"You, too."

The girl turned again, flashed Inigo a smile, and exited through a door to her left. He bet she attended this school, too; she seemed to know her way around, at any rate.

"So," Owain said, grinning, "how can the great Owain, the Scion of Legend, help you," he drew his eyebrows together in a way that made his face scrunch up almost comedically, "mere mortal called... Do I know you?"

Inigo played around with his earring absentmindedly. "No. I'm from another school. We came to watch your poetry slam. A-Anyway, my name--"

Owain pushed one of his fingers to Inigo's lips. His finger felt hot and good. Inigo swallowed. "Do not utter a single word! It appears it clearly before my mind's eye... You're a Man for Flowers, walking the earth by the name of Alice!"

"Who the fuck is Alice?" Inigo asked and covered his mouth as soon as the words left it. He never meant to swear, but this was just ridiculous. "Also, Alice is a girl's name."

"It is?" Owain asked. His lips formed a slight open pout, his eyebrows drawn down in confusion. "What about the great male specimen, though, scaring little children and calling himself ominously 'Alice Cooper'?"

"I'm pretty sure that's not his birth name." Inigo was close to sighing. This guy was wearing him down, fast. "Anyway, my name's Inigo."

Owain crossed his arms and nodded. "A name given to nobles can only gain my approval."

"Uh, thanks." Inigo's cheeks grew hot. He wanted, no needed, to change their conversation topic. "Quick question: Do you _have_ to speak like this?"

"It is but a test to divide the weak from the strong. Only the latter are allowed to communicate with the great Owain." Owain uncrossed his arms and reached to the back of his neck with one hand. He looked away in embarrassment. "No, I don't _have_ to. It's just part of my persona."

Inigo thought about the term for a moment. He'd heard it before, he was sure of it. "As in stage persona?"

"Yes and no," Owain answered, redirecting his gaze to Inigo again. "I mean it as in the person I've always dreamt of being. A knight in shining armour. An author of novels and stage plays as important and memorable as Shakespeare's. Someone to look up to and not be looked down upon in return."

Inigo cracked a smile. "You're the noble one." Owain laughed. Inigo, on the other hand, frowned. "H-Hey, what's that for?"

"Just the irony. On my mother's side, I'm actually a descendant of some Welsh duke. She named me after a Welsh prince who might've been King Arthur." Owain sighed. "He's her favourite." For some reason, this conversation didn't turn out to be as awkward as Inigo had feared. He was surprised at how easy it was to talk to Owain. The other boy obviously had no problem speaking with strangers at all, and this helped Inigo a great deal. "So, why did you want to talk to me again?" Owain asked after Inigo had just kept on smiling at him for at least a minute.

"Oh, I, uh, I-I." Inigo struggled. He took a deep breath, touched his earring, and started anew. He was glad Owain didn't laugh at him, just kept looking at him with a curious expression. "I wanted to tell you that I thought your performance was..." 'Breathtaking'? No, that was too strong. But 'cool' or 'great' didn't cut it either. "It was the best one today," he settled on. "I liked it a lot."

"Well, thank you," Owain grinned and even threw in a gentlemanly bow.

Out of habit, Inigo curtseyed. When he realised what he had done, he blushed madly, like he was trying to imitate a ripe tomato. "S-Sorry." The boy cast his gaze downward. "What I-I actually wanted to ask," Inigo tried to change the subject, diverting from his slip-up, "is, why potatoes?"

"The P in 'potato' stands for 'power'!" Owain again covered half his face with his right hand.

Inigo straightened himself up, put his hands to his hips and grinned. "Oh, does it?"

"What else should it stand for?" the blond asked with genuine confusion. Inigo laughed. Owain looked all the more lost.

"Never mind." Inigo couldn't stop grinning, though.

"You know," Owain said, "there's this teacher at our school. Don't know him well but he's _always_ doing kitchen duty. I'm not sure what's his deal, but it's rumoured he loves peeling potatoes."

"What the hell?"

"Right?" Owain was grinning now, too. He looked proud of himself and Inigo found he liked the sparkling eyes a lot. "They serve potato dishes every day at lunch. I hope my poem was a contribution worthy of our school mascot to-be." The blond boy nodded to himself.

"Seriously?" Inigo laughed. It made his side hurt again but he didn't care. Instead, he was relieved this conversation turned out to be far less awkward than he had feared. Instead, he felt at ease talking to Owain. "You gonna promote a potato to your school mascot?"

"Hey, even the couch potatoes will love it!" Owain grinned again, this time more on the playful side of the scale. "They can just," he covered half his face once again, "take a potato chip, and _eat it_!"

When he heard this, Inigo's grin broadened. "Oh my gods, my friend showed me this video earlier today!" He was close to jumping around. Yes, this conversation was definitely going better than pretty much anything in his life had up to this point.

Owain laughed out loud now as well, and didn't he have a laugh that way too cute for a tall, broad-shouldered guy like him? "I have another one, though." He held up one finger. "Vodka is made from potatoes. Potatoes are vegetables. Vegetables are good for you." He grinned. "You're welcome."

"What the hell?" Inigo laughed. "By the way, you're not already legal, are you?" He had to think about this because he didn't care for alcohol. He'd only tried beer anyway and it had tasted awful in his opinion. Still, he was pretty sure the legal drinking age in Ontario was 19.

"No!" Owain looked shocked. "I'm a junior. I'm 17."

Inigo nodded. "I'm still a freshman, 15 years old. Or young." He let out an embarrassed laugh, then realised that this was a great opening to figure something out that had been nagging on him all this time for some reason. "So that girl from before was your girlfriend I take it?"

"What?" Owain seemed to be torn whether to laugh or be shocked. "She's my cousin. I'm not dating anyone at the moment." Under his breath he mumbled, "That feel when no..."

The younger boy let out a sigh of relief. A smile formed on his lips; he had no idea why he felt this way but at the same time he didn't want to think too hard about it. No, there was only one thing he wanted (for the moment at least).

Playing around with his earring again, Inigo looked straight past the other boy. "So, like, anyway... My school came to see your slam. And like I already said," he met Owain's gaze, "I was seriously impressed by _your_ performance! As in personal your. Singular." Why did his throat have to close up now? Why did his tongue turn so dry all of a sudden? Why did his heart hammer against his chest? Inigo had never felt that way with anyone before, ever, and it freaked him out. "A-And I just wanted to ask if you'd be, well, i-if you'd be interested in," he couldn't do this anymore and looked away. "I-In keeping in touch..."

"Sure." Inigo blinked. He hadn't thought it'd turn out to be _this_ easy. Owain pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and said, "Gimme your number and I'll text you."

Inigo half-panicked when he didn't find his phone nestled next to his iPod. Then he remembered he put it in his hoodie's pocket and looked there. His hands shook rather badly and he had to try twice to unlock his phone (it turned out the screen lock was hell to unlock when you were nervous).

He had just finished reading out his number to Owain when a voice that sounded somewhere between anxious and irritated called out, "Inigo? You here?"

The boy in question turned in time to see Gerome round the corner. "Uh, yeah." Inigo got smacked in the face with something soft. It almost fell to the floor, Inigo being too stunned to catch the object in time, but Owain's reflexes were nothing to be ashamed of: He caught it and handed it to Inigo. It was his pillow.

The redhead approached him and Owain, scowling. "What are you doing here? You've been missing for at least half an hour and we're ready to go."

"S-Sorry." Inigo fumbled around with his earring with his free hand. "I... wanted to talk to one of the performers."

"So you went back stage and looked for them?" Gerome shook his head.

"Yeah." Inigo grinned. Looked like _he_ was the one winning this battle of words. Victory seemed near, and it felt _good_. He took the chance to push his pillow into Gerome's hands. "It worked, by the way."

"Hi," Owain said meekly from behind him and even threw in a little wave of his hand.

Gerome shot the blond a disapproving glance, then looked back at Inigo. "And _by the way_ ," he countered, "Mr. Shaffer's been getting worked up over you missing. I wouldn't want to be in your place." His eyes narrowed in a feline smirk. "I won't help you out of detention again."

Inigo blushed. Now _this_ was one piece of information Owain didn't need to know about him. "You're such a great friend," Inigo muttered.

"You seem to be making new ones," he nodded at Owain, "and anyway, this should be the least of your worries. Come one, time's not going to stop or even run backwards because you had rather stay here and argue."

"Don't tell me you got away with sleeping through everything." Inigo pouted.

"You know what makes a good criminal? They don't get themselves caught." Life was plain unfair. "And now, come on already. We have to get back."

"Yes, Mum." Inigo turned around to face Owain. "Sorry. I'll, uh, talk to you later?"

The blond nodded. "I'll text you." Then he did something Inigo didn't expect at all: He stepped closer to him and wrapped his arms around him. Inigo struggled with returning the gesture -- everything was turning a special brand of awkward for him right then. His heart was beating at least 180 times a minute, and this couldn't be healthy, could it? Then there was the hard-to-ignore fact that Gerome was standing not two metres away from them and probably watching. Still, he somehow managed, and almost rear-ended into Gerome when he stepped back. "Take care."

Inigo nodded. "Yeah, you, too. See you later!" He swiftly turned around and marched back over the stage towards where the audience had been. Most people had already left, only a few classes from other schools remained, and there were unaffiliated people scattered about, checking their phones, talking to others.

"What was that all about?" Gerome asked, coming up behind Inigo and opting to walk next to him.

Inigo reached to his earring. "What do you mean?"

"You with the blond guy."

Inigo gulped. His hands felt sweaty so he tried drying them on his pants. "His performance was... amazing. I had the strong urge to talk to him, so I just walked over the stage, found him," he shrugged, "and did."

Gerome let out something between a sigh and a groan. "Sometimes I feel like I'm the only straight man here."

"I don't even want to know what that's supposed to mean..." Inigo mumbled under his breath and stuck his hands in his hoodie's pockets.

"I _could_ tell you but you've always been resistant to knowledge."

Inigo shot his friend a dark glare. "That's not true and you know it."

"You're aware you just ruined your argument by saying, 'I don't want to know', right?" Gerome smirked back at him.

Inigo scowled and stared straight ahead, jumping down from the stage's border. "Why do I even bother and talk to you?"

Gerome was right behind him, jumping down with ease and an unfair amount of grace. "You tell me."

Inigo would never get why they considered each other their friend.

Especially when Gerome laughed heartily at Mr. Shaffer's, "Inigo. I'd advice you to pick a god and pray."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Olivia waters a carpet and Gerome shows how much of a "French turnip" he actually is.

Inigo had grown impatient over the last few weeks. He was sitting at the dinner table and kept glancing at the clock on the wall every other minute. It was only a matter of time before his mother would notice.

"Inigo," she chided in a tone close to too soft for chiding, "is something bothering you?"

"Why do you ask?" Inigo let out a fake laugh, then tried covering his embarrassment up with a smile just as fake. He twisted around his earring.

"Lately," Olivia said, either not noticing Inigo's struggles with acting or showing off her superior acting by not seeming to notice, "to me at least, it looks like you have developed an unhealthy obsession with the clock."

Inigo looked to the clock once again. "I haven't?"

"You're looking at it right now."

"Oh." Inigo shifted his gaze back to his mother.

"Please," she sounded like she was begging him, "tell me what's the deal so I don't have to worry."

Inigo sighed. There was no way around it, was there? "Well," he said, "there's this friend I made on the field trip and it's easiest talking to him on the computer. You can, like, call people this way and literally talk to them."

Olivia nodded throughout this short explanation and only spoke again when she was convinced Inigo wouldn't say anything more. "It's been going like this for weeks, though."

Inigo wasn't sure if should share this piece of information but then again, his mother had always been the understanding type. "I can't talk to him in person, that's why. He lives in Toronto. So we agreed to talk to each other every evening. On the internet."

"Why are you so impatient, then, dear?"

"I don't know," Inigo admitted. "I'm just really looking forward to it."

Olivia let out a sigh so small it was almost inaudible. "You know what they say about talking to strangers on the internet."

"He's not a stranger. I met him in person." Inigo gave her a wry smile. "I swear he's not some pedophile. He's 17."

"I can't stop you from talking to him anyway, can I?" She didn't wait for an answer, merely shook her head. "What's his name?"

Couldn't his mother see she was dragging this conversation out? He could be talking to him already! "Owain. But spelled with A-I-N, not E-N."

"What a nice name!" Olivia smiled.

"Yeah, right." Inigo wanted to get up already. He didn't see why he should make unnecessary small talk with his mother when his plate was already finished, and anyway, Owain might be already waiting for him. Inigo looked at the clock again. Yes, he was definitely waiting for him. "So," Inigo said, "the food tasted great, as always. I loved it. Uh, I'm gonna head to my room now, all right?"

Olivia nodded, eyes cast downward. She met Inigo's gaze again right as he got up and said, "Please take your tableware to the kitchen on your way."

"Sure." Inigo placed his fork and knife on his plate and carried everything into the kitchen to load it into the dishwasher. Afterwards, he made his way to his room, eagerly turning on his laptop. He didn't understand why this thing had become slower and slower over time (he bet it had something to do with either old age or having downloaded way too many things to count).

Inigo used the time his computer took to boot up to enter the bathroom and look in the mirror. He wanted to leave a good impression today, too, so, caught between nervosity and self-consciousness, he went so far as to even brush his teeth.

When he returned to his room, his laptop displayed his desktop wallpaper. All kinds of cute symbols popped up in the taskbar and Inigo had to wait for another minute before he could start up Skype.

True to his prediction, _potatoslammer42_ was already online. Inigo hovered over the call button, trying to get his rapidly beating heart under control and of course failing. There was no other reason to hold off a conversation any longer, he figured, so he video called Owain.

As soon as Owain's face appeared on his screen, Inigo greeted, "Hey!" Simultaneously to Owain. The younger boy laughed in embarrassment (Owain didn't seem fazed at all), and tried to play it off by saying, "Sorry. If you were a girl, I'd say, 'Ladies first', but..."

Owain grinned. "Oh, do not fret, dear sir, instead call me however you desire."

"Haven't we agreed on talking like 21st century people?"

"I regret to inform you that I have been born a 90s kid." Owain nodded to himself, eyes closed. "Only true 90s kids remember--"

"I'm a 90s kid, too, you know."

"You having any recollection of this significant and important decade is highly doubtful considering you have been spawned in '99."

"Excuse me?" Inigo yelled. He had been close to interrupting Owain. "'Spawned'?"

The blond nodded as he was typing something on his computer. Inigo noticed that Owain could type blindly as well as with 10 fingers at a time. "According to dictionary-dot-com, 'to spawn someone' is synonymous with 'to give birth to someone'."

Inigo crossed his arms and poutet. "It still sounds as if I have been magicked here."

Owain shrugged and smiled into the camera. The expression was too much for Inigo to take and he just couldn't for the hell of it stay mad at his friend any longer. "I think it sounds awesome. It's unconventional."

"Don't talk like I've been wished or summoned here or something," Inigo mumbled.

Owain grinned and pulled up one eyebrow. "Well, do you remember having been born?"

"I can't say that I do," Inigo said and hastily added, before Owain would make another smart-ass remark, "but I'm glad I'm not traumatised by this memory."

"The point still stands, though. There is a very reasonable chance that you're the result of dibbling in magical affairs."

Inigo turned back to look into the camera like he was on _The Office_. "Can _you_ proof you've been born in a natural way?"

"Who's to say magic isn't 'natural'?" Owain grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Inigo hadn't expected such an immediate retort, and even less one that was actually witty.

Inigo thought hard and long about how he should get back at his friend, but nothing would come to him. He settled on saying, "I refuse to talk about this any longer."

"Good thing I've come prepared." Owain flashed him a happy smile, although his expression turned more serious almost immediately. "In," he looked over to the side to concentrate, then shifted his gaze back to the camera, "three weeks I have the place here to myself, and I wanted to ask you if you'd like to come over the weekend. You can stay over night, so it won't turn into 'Inigo's longer on the way than at Owain's'."

Inigo blinked. He needed time to process what was happening right now. "I-I'd have to ask my mum."

Owain grinned. "What're you waiting for?"

"Uh," was all Inigo managed. He got up from his bed, shouted, "Gimme a minute or so," and made his way to his mother in a dash. He found her in the living room watering the flowers and their rubber fig that reached the ceiling (why did they own such a thing?). Hand on his earring, Inigo called, "Mum?"

Olivia turned around, spilling water on the carpet by accident. Inigo gulped but decided to not call attention to it. "Yes?"

"So, like, Owain asked me if I wanted to come visit in a couple of weeks and I do and I'm no adult so I need your permission." He grinned and hoped this would earn him some positive points.

Olivia straightened herself and glanced to the monstrous tree for a few seconds before she looked back to her son. "Be honest. You're going to go whether I say yes or no anyway." Inigo opened his mouth to respond, but his mother beat him to it. "How do you plan on getting to... where?"

"Toronto. There's probably a train or bus connection. C'mon, Mum."

"And who will pay for the tickets?" Her voice was soft. Inigo grinned. He'd won. Yes, victory did indeed feel good.

"Me!" Inigo pointed to his chest with his thumb. "I'm gonna go check the prices!" Before he let his mother have another chance or to think over what she had just allowed him, he rushed back into his room.

As soon as his door slammed shut, he heard Owain's voice from his laptop's speakers ask, "Not negative news?"

"She didn't say yes," Inigo said as he was making his way back onto his bed, "but!" He grinned. "She didn't say no either."

It was cute, he mused, how confused Owain looked, eyebrows drawn together, mouth forming an upside-down V. "Did she even say anything at all?"

Inigo's grin broadened. "Yeah. 'Who's gonna pay for the tickets.' That's what she said!" He opened his web browser and started typing.

"So...?" Owain asked, sounding hopeful.

"I'm checking the pricing right now." It was a little higher than he had expected and it was going to make his wallet hurt. However, he should spend his pocket money on things he wanted to have and wanted to do, and visiting Owain was his top priority at the moment. He was so excited he was close to jumping and dancing around, but he reminded himself to do this when no one would be around to watch, especially not Owain.

"If the tickets are too expensive, I could always give you a little money."

Inigo blinked. "Dude, you don't have to. I can cover this. Next time, you'll just have to come here, so it'll be even."

Owain smiled. "Deal."

Inigo grinned broader than ever before. His mouth started to hurt, but he didn't care. "Awesome." He looked around himself. "I should clean up my room before then, though."

Owain waved with his hand and smiled smugly. "You should see this mess. And let me quote Einstein at you: 'Order is for idiots, genius can handle chaos.'"

"Did he actually say this?"

Owain shrugged. "In German probably."

Inigo shook his head lightly, smiling. "Anyway, you gotta help me right now. I don't know at which station I should get off."

* * *

"What are you so excited for?" Gerome asked, sounding more irritated than interested.

"Sorry, Mr. I-Carefully-Conceal-My-Emotions-Behind-A-Mask-Of-Annoyed-Indifference," Inigo motor-mouthed, walking down the street with his friend, "not everyone is a shining example of blissful apathy." He underlined his point by grinning happily at the redhead.

"You realise this isn't even close to answering my question."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

"Which is a shame," Gerome said as they rounded a corner, "because I did ask out of ignorance. I _would_ like to know what's making you so giddy with happiness."

Inigo snickered. "Curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back." Inigo's face dropped, and Gerome smirked. "This is how it fully goes. So just tell me. And don't be like, 'No, I didn't want anyone to find out something's up!' because you're doing a horrendous job at hiding it."

"You know, Gerome," the boy in question flinched a little when Inigo failed the pronunciation of his name again, "can you at least _try_ to play along?"

"I asked you what has you so excited?"

"It didn't sound like you meant it." Inigo sighed. "How was I supposed to know?"

"Oh, it's simple." Inigo turned just in time to see Gerome put on a smug smile. "I wouldn't have asked if I hadn't meant it."

"Why do you have to be such a smart ass? You're worse than Owain!"

Gerome raised an eyebrow. "Owain?"

Inigo's eyes widened. "From the poetry slam."

"The blond one?"

"Right. We, uh, actually managed to keep in touch--"

"I'm impressed." They stopped at an intersection after which they would have to take separate ways home. Both boys turned to face one another and to keep talking.

"This would be a nice compliment if I couldn't hear the sarcasm dripping from your voice, you know." Inigo crossed his arms.

Gerome's expression didn't alter in the slightest. "Pardon. That's French for 'pardon'."

"Shut up." Inigo twisted his earring. "Anyway, yeah, Owain. He asked me if I wanted to come visit him and I do and Mum's fine with it so... this is what I'm excited for."

Gerome blinked. He looked stunned. "Wow."

"What's the matter now?" Inigo asked, sighing in exasperation.

"The way you've been acting, humming, singing, hopping around, dancing," here, Inigo blushed, "I thought it'd be something different."

"Like what?"

"Like you got yourself a girlfriend." Gerome snorted. "I should've known better, judging from your, ah, 'expertise'," he drew quotation marks into the air with his fingers, "at flirting."

Inigo clenched his fists. "I bet your girlfriend isn't even real!"

Gerome shrugged. "50 bucks say she is."

"You know I can't afford the tickets this way." Inigo didn't expect Gerome to laugh, genuinely even, and blinked at him in disbelief. "What?"

"I can't get my head around how much of a sore loser you are." Inigo's eyebrows scrunched together. "It's fun, turning all these conversations around on you and seeing you deal with something between mild disbelief and anger management problems."

"I'm _not_ a sore loser!" Inigo started to stomp home.

"And that's exactly what a sore loser would say." Gerome grinned in satisfaction and turned to head home as well.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Owain falls in love with double-entendres and Inigo throws knives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I screwed up the public transport system of Toronto, I've never actually been there and put down my experiences from Vienna instead...

For some reason, Inigo would never have thought Owain someone capable of reading a clock, much less being on time. But here he was, pacing the station platform up and down as he waited for the train to come to a halt and open its doors. Inigo reached for his bag above the seats and went to the door, certain his own impatience was on par with Owain's.

Inigo almost slipped when the door in front of him slid open. He regained his footing with a staggering dance, bag slamming into his back and leaving him breathless for two very long seeming seconds. His cheeks grew hot. What a way to make a first impression.

"You all right?" Owain called out, voice growing louder as he approached. Three people were friendly enough to bump into Inigo from behind, the last one giving him a rude shove. "Watch it!" Owain barked. His expression was torn between a worried frown and fuming anger every time he looked to his left. Someone looking like a cross between a quarterback and the reaper was making his way away from the train over there.

"I'm fine," Inigo said as he straightened himself and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Sorry."

"You're not the one at fault for being pushed around by that jerk."

"It's okay. Forget about it." Inigo put on a grin. "Anyway, hi."

"Hey." Even though he knew it was coming, Inigo's breath still hitched when Owain hugged him. "I'm glad this worked out. How are you?"

"I'm good." Inigo nodded. "You?"

"Same."

"Sorry the train was a little late."

"I noticed." Owain grinned cheekily. "I was close to getting myself a coffee, but I figured I might miss the train this way. You know, Murphy's law."

Inigo nodded. "Coffee sounds great, though."

"Wait, I haven't arrived at the punch line yet!" Owain took a step back and covered half his face with his right hand. Inigo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out too soon. "You wouldn't want me 15 minutes late with Starbucks."

Inigo giggled before laughing a little more. Not because of what Owain said (Inigo didn't get the joke) but his puppy dog expression was too much to take. It was so obvious he tried to please Inigo that the younger boy just couldn't help himself. "Aw. I'd want yo--" His hand slapped across his mouth, and, eyes widening, his face grew hot.

"Want me to carry your bag for you?" Owain's tone suggested that he was replacing his thoughts with others as to not make this conversation any more awkward than it already was.

"Uh, you don't have to."

"I offered it, though." Owain bowed. "If I may, dear gentleman."

Inigo sighed but gave in. "I can't change your mind, can I?"

"No," Owain took the bag from Inigo and swung it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, "and you can't change it about treating you to the coffee you wanted, either."

"I'm not allowed to say you don't have to do this, right?"

"Technically speaking, you are." Owain grinned, turned around and started to lead the way. Inigo jogged up to him to match his pace. "However, the great Owain, Scion of Legend, is equipped with a modifier which will render objections of any form and manner useless."

"You know," Inigo said, folding his hands behind his head, eyes cast skyward, "sometimes I wonder what the hell is wrong with you."

"Insulting the gr--"

Inigo laughed. "It's okay. Because it's, like, unique?" He glanced over to Owain. The teen in question wasn't scowling, and that had to count for something, right? "I've never met anyone else who had the balls to speak like this. And meant it."

Owain hummed, but neither in agreement nor insult. "I'll take it as a compliment, then."

"Even if I pissed you off, you couldn't just abandon me," Inigo said jokingly.

"Ohhh," Owain turned to face him and the grin he displayed was menacing, "you are clearly not aware of what I am capable of."

"Don't scare me!" His voice even came out a little high-pitched and Inigo gulped. He reached for his earring for some reassurement.

Owain chuckled. It sounded like the way a murderer of some horror movie would chuckle right before making his kill. Inigo inadvertently increased the distance between them. Owain's chuckle turned into genuine laughter then, and he grinned at Inigo in a way that made the younger boy's heart almost give out. "I'm just screwing with you."

This made Inigo blush because his thoughts _had_ to travel elsewhere. The boy silently cursed his hormones. "...Cut it out." His objection came out muffled and it was weak, and he knew it.

Owain kept laughing with delight.

* * *

Inigo wasn't used to public transport aside from buses, especially not streetcars or subways. And speaking of the subway, he was torn whether to like it or not. On the one hand, he liked how fast you could go from one place to the next. On the other hand, _crammed_ wasn't doing the situation inside one of the cars justice. Being pushed into Owain's chest didn't help Inigo's conflicted condition at all, either.

The boy was glad when they finally got off even though they had to run up the stairs to catch the next streetcar in time. Owain shouted a, "Sorry for having to hurry!" even though Inigo didn't think it so bad -- this was way more exciting than walking to school at a sluggish pace in the sleepy little town he lived in.

They miraculously _did_ manage to catch the streetcar, out of breath and heaving heavily, and before too long, they arrived at Owain's home. The house was bigger than Inigo had expected, counting three storeys. There was also a nice front porch adorned with bushes and small trees, and Inigo bet there'd also be a garden behind the nice estate.

"You like it?" Owain grinned and walked up the steps to the front door. Inigo followed him, turning around to take a good look at everything.

"This looks expensive."

"Hey, being the grand-grand-something-son of a duke has to count for something, right?" He grinned, set Inigo's bag next to his feet and unlocked the door. "Like you wanted to say to me once," Owain cleared his throat and dropped his voice, putting on a genuine sounding British accent (although it was hard to tell from just two words), "'Ladies first.'"

Inigo sighed but gave in and entered the house. "Is anything off-limits?" he asked, looking around with caution. The rooms were flooded with sunlight streameing in through the huge windows and glass panels. The walls were painted a rich tone somewhere between beige and sunflower yellow. Everything seemed warmer and more inviting because of this choice, and the walls complemented the colours of the orange to red furniture well.

"Not that I know," Owain answered and closed the door behind him, Inigo's bag in hand. "I don't think you want to see my parents' bedroom, though."

Inigo turned. He flashed Owain a lop-sided grin. "No?"

Owain shrugged. "You never know what's going through other people's heads."

"True story." Inigo didn't add that he thought this especially true for Owain. Sometimes he was plain and on the point, at other's he used words so archaic Inigo had no clue what they meant, or was only aware of another meaning that Owain did not intend.

"Well, would you like to see _my_ bedroom?"

"This sounds wrong and you know it."

Owain's grin widened. "Well, would you? You're, hopefully I might add, going to sleep there."

Now Inigo blushed. His hand shot up to his earring so fast he ended up scratching the tender skin next to his ear by accident. "N-Not in a shared bed, I hope."

Owain waggled his eyebrows. Inigo gulped. "This depends solely on your viewpoint."

"Reassuring."

Owain laughed. "I know. C'mon." The blond led Inigo around a corner and up a staircase he hadn't noticed before. This floor seemed a little smaller than the one under it but this impression could be blamed on the way the furniture had been placed. "Sorry, it's not _that_ tidy in there." Owain opened the second door to their left and gestured with his free hand. "The aforementioned chamber." The British accent was back.

Inigo stepped inside. He already knew the part of Owain's room opposite his computer (he didn't have a laptop, but instead a massive tower upgraded with all kinds of things Inigo couldn't tell apart): A bookshelf stacked with so many well-read and just as loved novels, some of them taped together. Little figurines and simple cardboard cutouts were placed in front of them, and someone (Owain himself, Inigo guessed) had adorned the whole shelf with tiny stars.

The rest of the room was just as stunning to Inigo. A pair of French windows led out to a balcony of considerable size, more shelves for more printed works and even handwritten ones (Owain's own creations from the looks), a whole one dedicated to music of all forms, and hopefully also one for clothes, lined the walls postered with photos and print-outs of almost everything, including cinnamon rolls and bunnies. A second desk leaned against one corner of the room, a writing quill sitting on top of it. Its purpose was more than obvious.

Oddly enough, a single potted plant stood nestled between the desk and a shelf. It looked out of place, and Inigo needn't say anything because Owain shot in to explain, "When I was 13, I had this obsession with Phoenix Wright and in there's a potted plant in his office. Yeah." He touched the back of his neck with one hand, averting his eyes in what looked like embarrassment. "Say hi to Charley."

"Uh." Okay, this was a little weird but nothing totally unexpected, Inigo supposed. "Hi, Charley," he muttered, much to the delight of the now grinning Owain.

And then there was the bed. Owain's mysterious remark suddenly made a lot more sense: He had a bunk bed, and there was a mattress each on the top as well as on the bottom.

"So, are you a top or a bottom?" Owain asked, smirking like a cunning fox. He laughed out loud when Inigo, at a loss for words, blushed. Owain managed to make everything even worse by adding, "Personally, I prefer to lie on top."

Inigo coughed and said, "Now I understand."

"Hm?"

"This way, you're so close to the ceiling you must have hit your head a few times."

Owain grinned. "Touché." Had Inigo really won this once? His lips quirked up in a happy smile until his friend had to ruin it. "Seeing as you can't afford to lose any more brain cells, you should probably take the bottom bunk."

"Why so insulting?" Inigo moped. He took his bag, which Owain had placed next to himself, and put it on the mattress.

"Why so serious?" Owain sighed. "If I had known before my birth I'd grow to such a height, to become this large a ma--"

"Shut the up." Inigo's eyes widened and his blush from before returned with full intensity. His hand snapped over his mouth so fast he ended up biting the inside of his lip by accident.

Owain laughed. "You're way too nervous. Loosen up."

"I wouldn't be if you just talked like a normal person and not made fun of me."

"And I thought you'd be happy if sempai noticed you."

"I don't want to know what this is supposed to mean." Instead, Inigo walked around the room a little, inspecting the details he'd given a once-over only before. He noticed a lot of things now he hadn't 20 minutes ago, like the tiny figures of several Disney Princesses and the off-model looking Pokémon trapped in clear bouncy ball. "What's up with this?" he asked, approaching the object of his piqued curiosity.

"He's in there for our protection." Owain even sounded like he was on the verge of panic when Inigo's hand reached out to touch the bouncy ball. "Seriously, don't."

Inigo let his hand drop and turned to meet Owain's wide-eyed stare. "I can't tell whether you're acting or freaking out for real."

Now Owain went back to grinning. "Good." Inigo rolled his eyes. That's when they caught something that was even more interesting than the stupid bouncy ball. Approaching the desk with the quill, Inigo could see he was right. Perched on top lay a ring book on its face. "No!"

Inigo shot Owain a self-satisfied smirk, then he redirected his attention back to the book. He turned it around, Owain shouting frantically but in vain, and read the title made up of cardboard cutouts of various letters. "'Diary'." He giggled and dodged Owain's outstretched hands by ducking. "Seriously, dude?"

"Inigo!" The boy in question kept giggling and dashed out of the room. Owain was right behind him. "I mean Ini-come!"

"No way!" Inigo darted down the stairs. Owain was close on his heels, taking two steps at a time. "I found the great Owain's weak-spot and I'm _not_ giving it up!"

"Yes, you are! It was all good and fun until you had to--" "No! You're a jerk!" Owain tackled Inigo to the floor in the middle of the living room. "Ouch." The younger boy let go of the book, focusing on his hurting back instead. Owain was _heavy_.

"Told you I'm a top." He reached for his holy diary, shuffling forward a little and pinning Inigo with his knees.

Inigo buried his face in the clean carpet. So far, nine out of ten things that had happened here today had made Inigo question his sexual orientation, and this situation right now wasn't helping him stay straight. Yes, he admitted to himself silently, eyes shut so tight he feared he might get a little teary-eyed, he _liked_ having Owain sprawled on top of him. Nonetheless, he was glad when he got up.

"Are you dead?" Owain asked in a little voice, then. He nudged Inigo with a foot.

Inigo spoke into the carpet. "No. Yes. A little." He heard the ruffling of clothes from somewhere not too far off in front of him.

"The cycle of life--"

"Don't start quoting Lion King." Inigo pushed himself up with his arms. He wasn't used to doing push-ups (he didn't want to end up losing his slender figure by working out, and dancing was training enough already anyway). Still, he managed to sit up in a more oxygen-providing position, with his knees folded and his hands placed on his thighs.

Owain sat cross-legged in front of him, blinking. "I wasn't about to." He held his diary to his chest, arms wound around it in a protective way.

"What did you intend to say instead?" Inigo tapped out a simple rhythm on his knees.

"Karma, in an over-the-top and wordy way." Owain's eyes met Inigo's. "This book," he glanced down to the diary he was still pressing against his chest, "is off-limits. Especially to you, fiend." His eyes narrowed.

"'Fiend'? Really?" Inigo half-smiled.

"Yes."

"Okay, uh. First: Don't be such a baby."

"I'm not."

"You're sulking, Owain."

"Yeah, well," the boy in question looked to the side, "you wouldn't understand."

"Nope, I won't even pretend I do."

"Smart move." Owain looked back to him. His expression wasn't hostile but carefully reserved. Inigo couldn't read him at all.

"Ouch." Inigo fiddled around with his earring. "Anyway, second: You know what this reminds me of? This one episode of SpongeBob where Patrick has this secret box and wouldn't show it to anyone."

"I'll side with Patrick." Inigo blinked. "He's easy to identify with."

"Uh, what I actually wanted to say is," Inigo held his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture, "I'm not about to ruin our friendship by fighting about your diary so it'd be cool if you'd just drop it."

"I won't drop my diary!"

"No!" Now Inigo was waving frantically. "I mean, drop the issue. I won't peek. I won't even so much as look at your diary."

Owain regarded Inigo as if he wouldn't quite believe him, no matter what he said, as long as his diary was involved. Yes, Inigo was curious what was so embarrassing and secret in and about this book but he would _never_ look inside if it meant putting a serious stain on their friendship. The diary acted like a leverage to catch Owain off-guard, but meant nothing more to him.

To make his point clear, Inigo refused to even so much as glance for a split second any lower than Owain's eyes. The blond gave in, finally, sighing, but wouldn't let go of his book. "I'm going to lock it away so you don't get any funny ideas after all." With that he stood up and strode out of the room.

Inigo was too baffled to move at first, only tipping over so he was on all fours. He eventually got up fully, stretching a little and letting out a small, content yawn.

"Tired already?"

Inigo jumped from shock and turned to see Owain laughing at him. "Don't creep up on people like this!"

"Revenge is sweet and both my dignity and reputation are not at stake anymore." Owain grinned cheekily. "So you mentioned Disney movies..."

"Only the Lion King."

"Still." Owain shrugged. "Are you familiar with the songs?"

"You kidding?" Inigo grinned now as well. "I used to watch the movies all the time, so duh."

"Then it's decided!" With no additional forewarning, Owain grabbed Inigo's wrist and dragged him after himself. They rushed up the stairs again, entering the room next to Owain's this time. A huge flat-screen (at least 48 inches, Inigo surmised) hung on the one end of the room, various consoles attached to it.

"What's this--"

"My TV." Owain stopped but didn't let go of Inigo's wrist.

Inigo didn't ask why Owain had a separate room for his TV and gaming needs. Instead, he said, "I wanted to ask what you mean by, 'it's decided'?" He dreaded the answer already.

"Why, a sing-along contest, of course!"

Inigo disliked his singing voice, to put it lightly. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of Owain -- his opinion mattered to him, more so than he wanted to admit to himself. And if he made a fool of himself in front of him... He didn't want to think about the potential consequences.

Owain turned and beamed at him. His freckled cheeks had a pink hue to them. His eyes sparkled with excitement.

Inigo couldn't say no.

He was also still very aware of the hot hand holding onto him. Inigo tried to pull his hand free so he could touch his earring, hanging from his ear, which was just as red as his cheeks. Owain wouldn't let go, though.

He loosened his grip a little, reached for Inigo's other hand with his before-then free hand, and held them as if he was about to propose to him. Owain leaned forward, causing Inigo's blush to deepen. The faint smell of aftershave drifted his way. "You," Owain whispered right in his ear, breath hot, "should say yes now."

Inigo stammered out a weak and just as quiet, "Y-Yes," not meeting Owain's eyes. The whole situation was embarrassing him too much already, and he dreaded its outcome. Singing was _not_ one Inigo's strengths. He pulled his hands back, glad that Owain let go. The older teen jumped towards his TV as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Inigo felt all the more irritated. Gulping, he shuffled over to Owain and his gaming console.

* * *

Inigo was just as shocked finding out that Disney sing-along contests included High School Musical and Hannah Montana as he was about the fact that he actually had a lot of fun trying to match his voice with the pitch the original singers used.

Owain, as predicted, won, and not by a slim margin. Inigo had to give him credit for not even giggling about his singing, though. He smiled, cheeks rosy, when Owain put on a little victory dance. _This_ , at least, was something Inigo was better at.

"What?" Owain asked when he noticed Inigo staring.

"Well," Inigo twirled his earring around, "let's say your singing is miles better than your dancing." He grinned. Owain raised an eyebrow in response. "There's no rhythm to it, you know? It's like you're hopping around with no direction."

"That's pretty much what it was, though." Owain touched the back of his neck and averted his eyes.

"Oh, you embarrassed?" Inigo chuckled and leaned forward, hands on his hips. "Want me to teach you a little?"

"You can dance?"

Inigo met Owain's incredulous gaze with a nod. It was easier admitting it to Owain than he had feared -- Owain hadn't made fun of him earlier, he never criticised Inigo for any shortcoming he displayed up to this moment. Keeping secrets from him seemed over the top, considering how well their friendship had progressed so far. "My mum's a dancing instructor. I dance since pretty much forever." He straightened and held out his right hand.

Owain did not look convinced but rather ready to call a bluff. Yet he inched closer to Inigo and took his hand.

Inigo wrapped his fingers around Owain's and pulled him closer. "Formal dancing is a lot about memorising when to do what and can get... complicated. I dunno. I'd rather just party." He shrugged and smiled shyly.

"Party with two people only?"

Inigo hummed as he considered this. Yeah, two people was probably not even enough to qualify as party but then again he didn't want Owain to ask friends to come over. He wouldn't know those people and anyway, he _finally_ was here and could physically spend time with Owain, and he wouldn't let this be ruined by anything. "And I'd thought you'd love the idea of just the two of us... dancing to random songs on the radio or something..." He blushed and touched his earring. Somehow, this was another situation making Inigo question his supposed and accepted heterosexuality.

"I do." Owain was the one pulling now, taking Inigo downstairs until they reached the basement. He led Inigo through a small room connected to another, bigger room. Owain switched on the light.

"Wow," was all Inigo managed. "Spacious" wasn't doing the room justice -- it took at least half the foundation's space alone. It featured a bar complete with beverages not suited for minors, two speakers in every corner, and a large dance floor.

Owain squeezed his hand and smiled in such a way that Inigo's heart wouldn't stop fluttering.

"So," Owain said, letting go of Inigo's hand and leaving it cold and unattended, "the radio it is?" His face betrayed his scheming nature.

Inigo made a face in return. "Don't put on the opera channel."

Owain laughed as he approached one set of speakers. Inigo followed him with his eyes, and now noticed that the speakers in question were connected a sound system with many slots, buttons, and even a mixing console. "What carters to the gentleman's tastes?"

Inigo shrugged. "Some Jesse McCartney perhaps, or Taylor Swift..."

Owain turned, a single eyebrow raised. "I should not be surprised."

Inigo frowned. "Just turn on the radio and set it to some pop station. The songs usually have a clear beat and it's not that hard to dance to them. And we won't do anything fancy anyway."

"Not today." Owain grinned. "Promise me you'll get around to it someday, though."

Inigo smiled. "Promise."

Owain flashed him another toothy grin before he turned his attention to the radio. He found a station that was, for some reason neither of them could fathom, playing the Backstreet Boys' best-of. "Music for us true 90s kids."

Inigo shrugged and smiled. He didn't care about the music as long as it was danceable. The Backstreet Boys had recorded some awfully catchy songs anyway. And it couldn't get much worse than the Jonas Brothers earlier. He motioned with his hand for Owain to come over to him. The older teen took Inigo up on the invitation and danced up to him.

What ensued turned out to be not even remotely as awkward as Inigo had feared. Yes, there were still areas that could be improved, but overall it was obvious this wasn't the first time Owain casually danced with another person. Inigo swallowed at the thought but Owain's slightly narrowed eyes and wide, happy grin made him forget his jealousy. After what felt like no more than a few minutes, he found himself with the back to the wall, Owain grinding up to him as if they weren't seeing each other for the second time this day.

Inigo tried to duck and somehow escape this situation he found himself in but then he noticed his hands were tangled with Owain's, fingers intertwined. The younger boy looked up, face burning and its colour certainly clashing with his hair.

He swallowed.

Owain blinked at him and backed away, a nervous laugh escapting his lips. It seemed like he realised what he was doing all of a sudden. "Talk about awkward," he said, touching the back of his neck and averting his eyes.

"I-It's okay," Inigo stammered. In actuality, his heart was going way faster than could be healthy. He slid down the wall, knees having turned to jelly.

"You sure?" Owain asked in a little voice barely audible over _I Want It That Way_. He looked at Inigo again, concern evident in his eyes. "I mean, I've been teasing you all day already and I don't want to insult you, seriously, I'm the last person who'd ever do that, but you look... shaken, to put it mildly."

"It's fine." Inigo pushed himself up and put on his best smile. "I'm fine." Guy talk about feelings was the last thing he needed right now. He figured there must be smoke coming out his ears from all the thoughts revolving around his head, his mind occupied with more or less disturbing thoughts of wanting to turn back time a little and have Owain pressed against him again and lean in and--

Inigo shivered.

"I'm hungry," he announced. Anything to get his mind cleared, and food was always welcome.

Owain laughed, and it was like this was all they had needed for the tension to flee. He jogged back to the radio and turned it off, and before he knew it he was at Inigo's side again. "I hope you like potatoes as much as I do."

Inigo formed a slowly spreading grin on his face. "You were serious with your poem back at the slam?"

"Yeah. I thought it was obvious." Owain shrugged and turned around to make his way upstairs again. Inigo followed close behind.

"Let's say I wasn't aware." They reached the first floor and Owain took long strides to the kitchen. Inigo hurried to keep up. "Anyway, yes, potatoes are... great. They, uh, go with so many foods. Very versatile."

Owain snorted. "I hope you will come to appreciate the perfection that is called, poetically and fittingly, I might add, potato. Scientifically also known as _Solanum tuberosum_ , potatoes themselves come in over 50 equally delicious varieties. Please remind me to visit the PEI Potato Museum in O'Leary, Prince Edward Island, with yo--"

"I get it."

Inigo entered the spacious kitchen right after Owain, who turned around and spurted out more potato trivia. "You know what always cracks me up? In the 18th century, someone named their race horse Pot-8-Os. Spelled P-O-T-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O." He counted the Os on his finger as he spelled out the name. "Apparently, the stable boy... misunderstood." He giggled like a little school girl. Inigo shook his head, grinning only because of Owain's obvious amusement. He laughed when Owain said, "I just realised I should've said, 'Hold your horses' first."

"Are you even real?" Inigo wheezed, taking a seat on one of the designer bar stools. Owain walked around the kitchen counter dividing the area with the bar stools and the cooking platforms, and grinned in self-satisfaction.

"Very," he said and made his point clear by cupping Inigo's face (his head was propped up on his hands, which made them hard to take. Inigo might plant his face on the marble kitchen counter and that would not be according to plan). The boy's eyes widened and Owain drew back, just as embarrassed. "Uh, point proven?"

"Y-Yes." In an effort to strike up a normal conversation again, Inigo asked, "Don't you have this teacher at your school who gets off peeling potatoes?"

Owain laughed, juggling with three potatoes. "I can assure you this does not apply to me." He raised one eyebrow and smirked. "Interested in what _does_ get me o--"

"Y-- No!"

Owain laughed and caught the potatoes. "Do you like oven potatoes? Then I won't have to peel them." He winked.

Inigo shook his head. "I can help you, you know."

"Nope. You're my guest. You don't have to move a finger."

"But you're still lazy!"

Owain shrugged. "It can't be helped." He placed the potatoes he held in his hands on the counter between them and fetched some more from the small basket he already got the other three from. "How many courses would be appropriate?"

"One? Two, if you want to serve dessert."

"Do you have anything in mind for the second course?"

Inigo shrugged. "Yogurt? Ice cream?"

"What do you say to frozen yogurt?" Owain smirked and retrieved a roll of aluminum foil from somewhere under the counter between them (Inigo supposed there must be drawers there; at least that's what it sounded like).

"Sounds awesome."

Owain started wrapping the potatoes in the foil. When Inigo couldn't control his twitching fingers any longer, he joined Owain to help him wrap. "I see your sword hand's twitching."

"Am I supposed to make sense of this?"

Owain chuckled, turned around and put on the oven after taking all the trays out and placing them next to the potatoes on the counter. "You're not even supposed to be helping me."

"So..." Inigo scrunched his eyebrows together in equal parts confusion and concentration. "Is this a yes or a no?"

"This is a very good question." Owain snickered. Inigo swallowed and reached for his earring. "Next question."

"Do you like anyone?" Inigo blurted out and regretted the question as soon as it had left his lips. He covered his mouth as his cheeks grew hot.

Fortunately, Owain wasn't even looking his way, wrapping the last of the potatoes. A faint blush crept up his neck to his cheeks and the tip of his ears. For some reason, Inigo's mind conjured "cute" as a fitting description, and he couldn't resist the urge to touch his earring again. "Yes." He drew out the word in a whisper, scooped up all the wrapped potatoes, placed them on a tray and shoved it into the oven. "What about you?" he asked as he turned around to face Inigo again.

Inigo cast his eyes downward. He didn't want to meet Owain's piercing gaze. He felt like a mess. "I-I'm... not sure. But I think so."

"How can you be not sure?" Inigo heard a kitchen timer being tuned before ticking away, then steps first fading before approaching. Owain sat down on the stool next to him, causing Inigo to gulp. He wouldn't get up from the not-quite comfortable heap he had transformed himself into.

"Let's say I'm... confused."

Owain touched his back with the flat of his hand, inched closer and wrapped his arm around Inigo's shoulders. The gesture felt comforting and reassuring. "Don't let it get to you."

Inigo pushed himself up on his elbows and turned to flash Owain a smile. "I'll manage. And thank you." Owain pulled his arm back awkwardly. In an attempt to not let them both end up staring at each other wordlessly, Inigo asked, "How long do the potatoes take?"

"About an hour." Owain glanced to where he had left the kitchen timer, then back to Inigo. "50 minutes from now. We can use the time to prepare more food. Only potatoes is a little stale, don't you think?"

"True."

"I hope you can cook." Owain grinned.

"Wait, you can't?"

"I excel at potatoes. They are my specialty. And," his grin turned sheepish, "my only dishes that can be considered edible."

Inigo grimaced in pain. "Sigh."

"Okay, just stop." Owain shook his head as he spoke, a look of disbelief plastered across his face. "You're not even sighing. You're just saying the word 'sigh'." He got up from the bar stool and headed back to the other side of the kitchen counter again, Inigo laughing the whole time. "C'mere, snickerpuss."

"I'm inclined to say 'sigh' once again." Nevertheless, Inigo made his way to Owain's side. The blond had produced cutlery and handed it to Inigo, who threw one of the knives in the air and caught it on the handle. Owain watched him with a hint of alarm clouding his otherwise cheerful expression. Inigo noticed and put on a bright but at the same time guilty smile. "I wouldn't have anything else to cut anyway."

Owain scowled. "This doesn't mean I want the kitchen to resemble a murder scene."

"Yes, Mum." Inigo joined Owain when he opened the refrigerator and peered inside. "Do you have siblings I don't know of?" The fridge was stock-full of food.

"No, only one capital C Concerned mother."

Inigo grinned. "I can see the family resemblance already."

Owain only shook his head in response. "Vegetables or meat or both?"

"Uh." Inigo reached for his earring. "Only veggies, if you're okay with this?"

He didn't meet Owain's questioning gaze, didn't see him shrug. "Sure."

"I, uh, I don't wanna end up all beefy and bulky, you know, so I try to avoid prot--"

"You don't have to justify your decisions. Eat whatever you're cool with." Hesitantly, Inigo looked back to Owain, who pulled a leek out of the fridge and eyed it with suspicion. "Your call." He tossed the aforementioned vegetable towards Inigo.

The younger boy fetched it out of the air with ease and washed it. Owain walked around the kitchen counter and sat down on one of the bar stools. Inigo placed the still dripping leek on the marble kitchen counter. "It's okay to use this, right?"

"Yeah. We just have to clean up the mess afterwards." Owain raised an eyebrow.

Inigo rolled his eyes and turned his back to Owain. That way, the blond wouldn't see him blush, and he'd have the chance to get more food out of the refrigerator. "Why is, like, half of what you say laced with intentional double-meanings?"

"I just can't tease enough." Owain's voice was full of pride.

"In general or me in particular?" Inigo asked as he found cream cheese and champignons. That had to do.

"I'm not sure you'll like the answer."

"I can't tell you if you don't spill." Inigo placed the items on the kitchen counter as well, eyeing Owain warily.

Owain laughed. "Careful what you wish for 'cause you just might get it."

Inigo stuck out his tongue which only caused Owain to laugh harder. Secretly, Inigo cherished that sound. A lot. "You have a pan?"

Owain pointed up and behind him. Inigo turned; there were several closed kitchen shelves, and he had to whip his head around to line up Owain's finger with the right shelf. He opened it to the sight of pans placed in a strategic master move (that is, on the verge of falling out but somehow not). In a rush of panic, he picked the top-most one and slammed the shelf shut as fast as he could.

"Your kitchen is dangerous."

"So is you knife throwing."

Inigo's eye twitched. "Wanna see my tongue again?"

"Wouldn't mind, actually." Owain grinned before erupting into laughter again. Inigo supposed his expression must have looked hilarious to the blond.

Whatever the cause for his never-ending joy was, Inigo decided ignorance was bliss and concentrated on the cooking. He blended out Owain as he cut the leek, washed and cut the mushrooms, and created a delicious-smelling sauce in the pan (he even found the pepper mill on his own).

Inigo jumped when the kitchen timer rang with a shrill noise, announcing that the oven potatoes were ready. Owain rubbed at his mouth, covering it with the palm of his hand as he did. "What're you doing?" Inigo asked when he noticed.

The muffled reply was, "My mouth muscles hurt from laughing so much."

Inigo shook his head in disbelief and turned off the oven. He hadn't noticed Owain move but here he was, handing a pair of oven mittens to Inigo. "Uh, thanks. Where do we eat?" He stuck his hands in the oven and pulled the tray with the potatoes out. He found these oven mittens were high quality, judging from their soft fabric and the almost perfect insolation (the ones at his home let more heat to the point of unbearable through).

Owain shrugged in reply. "I don't care. Kitchen counter? Then we won't have to carry this through half the house."

"Sounds good." Inigo hefted the tray onto the stovetop, next to the pan with the sauce he'd prepared. "You should perhaps wipe over it once, though."

"Already done," Owain said, tossing a wet dishcloth into the sink. He wiped over the kitchen counter once again, this time with a dry cloth.

Inigo frowned. "It'll smell."

"I'm afraid I'm no professional cleaner." Owain grinned happily.

Rolling his eyes, Inigo said, "Remind me to clean the kitchen counter after dinner."

"I see you're feeling right at home already." Owain swiftly procured two plates and the needed tableware. "Would the gentleman like to be served a beverage of his choice and to his utmost liking?"

"Apple juice is fine."

"Noted." Owain placed two glasses on the counter as Inigo filled the plates with food. The younger boy walked around the kitchen counter and sat on the bar stool from before whereas Owain opened a bottle of apple juice, held it like it contained a ripened, expensive wine, and filled the glasses like a butler. "I assure you, my dear guest, that this juice has been pressed from selected apples only. Each of them has been reviewed on their optical perfection, their individual health and of course their freshness, affirming their bestowed and unrivalled quality."

"Only the best, huh?" Inigo grinned.

Owain rounded the counter and sat next to him. "Always the best for the best." He reached out for one of Inigo's hands but pulled his own hand back before he went through with his intention. Cheeks reddening, he snapped his head back to stare at his food. "B-Bon appétit."

* * *

Inigo hadn't known that frozen yogurt came in so many flavours. He also hadn't known that all of these could be house delivered. Owain watched him with a smile tugging at his lips, Inigo hopping around in anticipation, occasionally slipping into something more akin to a dance.

He jumped close to his own height in the air when the bell chimed. "Coming!" Owain bellowed, racing to the front door with money clasped in his hand. Inigo followed him and peeked over his shoulder when the blond opened the door.

Outside stood a smoking ginger man and a small, red-headed boy sporting a chullo, holding two bowls in his hands. "You wanted the cutest delivery boy, right?" the man asked. When he spoke, Inigo realised that the cigarette was actually a lollipop. The man pointed with his thumb at the boy. "Doesn't get much cuter if you ask me. Say, 'Hi', Ricken."

"H-Hi," the boy -- Ricken -- stammered, cheeks turning the colour of his hair.

"Where did you pick _him_ up?" Owain asked, disbelief evident on his face. He spoke as if he was not only familiar with the ginger man, but also with actions such as this one. "He looks a bit too young to be already working."

"Stol-- Kidn-- _Borrowed_ him from the generous neighbourhood!" The man radiated self-satisfaction. "Now take a look at the cutie pie! I didn't bring him for nothing!"

Ricken averted his eyes when Owain smiled at him, and stuck out the bowls in a defensive gesture. Owain took the bowls with an excited, high-pitched, "Thank you!" that sounded more like he was speaking to a dog than to a little boy. His voice was usually on the deeper end of the scale and it sounded _off_ , hearing him speak like this. Inigo couldn't contain his snickers.

"You're welcome..." Ricken whispered, head cast downward.

"And as a free bonus for great customers," the man said and pulled out two lollipops from his hoodie's pocket, "you never know when you crave for something different to suck on, sweeties." He handed the lollipops to Inigo who had by now moved next to Owain.

"Uh, thanks, I guess," Inigo muttered. _This_ was all turning a little, well, homosexual. He fiddled around with his earring, cheeks turning rosy.

Owain handed over the cash and grinned as if this exchange of words was routine. (Perhaps it was. Inigo wouldn't know.) "Thanks. And bring the boy home, Gaius, I swear he's scared out of his mind." Ricken gulped audibly and nodded. "See?"

"Gaius's already going bye-us." He grinned. "Have a great day, fruitcakes!" He turned around, pulling Ricken by his sweater with him.

Inigo closed the door, Owain carrying the bowls of frozen yogurt already to the kitchen. The younger teen hurried over to his friend just as he got each of them a spoon. "You know," Inigo said, "so far, everyone from this city is... weird." He emphasised his point by waving in front of his own eyes.

"Uh, opposites attract?" Owain shrugged, smiling as if he hadn't quite understood. He pressed one of the spoons into Inigo's free hand.

"My first impression of you was--"

"Now I'm hooked." Owain grinned with a blush creeping up his neck.

"--that you had some loose screws." Owain's expression went to one of immense physical pain. He overdramatically clutched at his chest with his free hand, causing Inigo to laugh. "I felt a strong surge of second-hand embarrassment." When Owain pouted, he hastily added, "But hey, my _second_ impression was that you were... I'm not sure how to phrase this." Inigo looked up to the ceiling in thought. "I was mesmerised, I guess."

Owain threw the arm he held his own spoon in around Inigo's shoulders and let out a merry laugh. Inigo froze and only loosened up again when Owain asked, "Which movie did we want to watch again?"

"We talked about Disney ones, but, honestly, I don't care."

Owain pulled his arm a little towards himself, causing Inigo to end up pressed with his back against his friend's chest. "Dreamworks stuff is hella cool."

Inigo gulped. His hands were occupied with holding the freezing bowl and the spoon. Not being able to reach for his earring made him even more nervous. "S-Sure." At least Owain wouldn't see his blushing face this way.

Owain let go of him, holding his spoon triumphantly in the air and yelling, "Dragons it is! Behold!" He dashed up the stairs and Inigo scrambled after him.

* * *

Inigo experienced several enlightenments while they were watching _How To Train Your Dragon_ in Owain's gaming room, sprawled out over the enormous and comfortable couch.

First, when the only illumination in the room stemmed from the TV (thank you, based curtains), it was easy to pretend you didn't see much else than what was going on on the screen. Somehow, the two boys had steadily inched closer to each other until Inigo ended up sitting half on Owain's lap, and neither of them had said anything and that was that.

Second, it was okay to casually stick your spoon in the other one's frozen yogurt bowl if you wanted to test the flavour. It was just as all right to lose track of which spoon was whose, and it didn't matter anyway anymore as soon as you only used one spoon for you both.

Third, if you already were that close to each other physically, it didn't hurt to go one step further and use your friend as a pillow. Owain turned out not only to be fine with this development, but he was also really comfortable.

Too bad the movie couldn't last forever and by the time the credit roll came on, Inigo's stomach twisted in on itself. He didn't dare move but he had to, so he compromised by raising his head a little and slouching over to the other side.

"I rather preferred it when you misused my body as a source of heat and comfort," Owain complained with a chuckle.

Inigo stared straight ahead at the TV screen, fumbling around with his earring. "P-Put on an-another movie and I'll have reason to a-again." He hated the stutter in his voice that came out squeaking somehow. It also sounded more like a question than a statement. He pressed his eyes shut so tightly that he wetted his lashes.

He dared to open his eyes to the insistent shaking on his shoulder. Owain looked at him with an expression full of open concern and asked in a small voice, "You feeling all right?"

"Sorry. I-I'm just... confused."

Owain grinned. "About the black magic that is the box with the 3D-animated people trapped inside?"

"Stupid." Inigo lightly shoved at Owain, who overdramatically landed flat on his back and held his left hand to his forehead.

"Argh... I see the Stygian dark... C-Can't feel my... sword hand..."

This caused Inigo to chuckle, at any rate. "What's 'Stygian'?"

Owain kept laying on his back, both arms outstretched to his sides now, and looked up at the ceiling. "Something related to River Styx, located in the Underworld. You know, Hades and friends." He sat up. "The place where you go when you die, according to Greek mythology."

"Isn't there this Hercules movie from Disney?"

"Yes, there is, although it's pretty inaccurate... as most Disney movies are, but, whatever." Owain shrugged. "In for some _Rise Of The Guardians_?" When Inigo gave him a blank stare, Owain explained, "If you're anything like me, you're gonna like that one a lot. Especially Jack Frost. He's cute."

"No homo." Inigo grinned.

Owain grinned even broader. "All of the homo!"

"Dude," Inigo started to say, and he was so flabbergasted that he lost his thread after the first word and had to start over. "Dude, did you just, like, out yourself?"

"This implies I have been _in_ at some point." Owain got up and changed the Blu-rays, nonchalant and perhaps even ignorant about Inigo's racing thoughts.

He tried to sort them. "Wait." Owain froze completely. Inigo rolled his eyes. "Not like that." Owain giggled and, Blu-ray inserted successfully, strode back to the couch and to Inigo. "So, you're, like, gay."

"Not 'like'." Owain grinned, amused with Inigo's reaction. "Don't look so shocked." He held up a finger. "I made plenty of references so you could figure it out for yourself." His index finger joined his thumb. "I haven't tried anything funny, right? And I'm not gonna force myself onto you." A third finger completed the gesture. "It's not contagious."

"It changes everything!" Inigo blurted out, opening and closing the hatch of his earring, the prick leaving small indentations on his thumb. "I fucking cuddled with you! And you said you enjoyed it!"

Owain shrugged. "That may be because I like cuddling." He smiled and threw his arm around Inigo's shoulders. "Come on, I said I won't try anything."

"I-I know." Inigo took a deep breath. He had always thought he was one of the more open-minded people (he knew how to dance ballet, after all, and he had worn white tights on some occasions) but now he realised that reality was a little different than his imagination.

Then again, Owain hadn't changed. He was still the same person.

And Inigo liked him, didn't he?

Did he...?

He decided not to let his thoughts cloud his judgement any longer, not let anything dictate how he should act. Exhaling, and thereby hopefully leaving all that pent-up stress behind, Inigo leaned into the half-embrace and chose to enjoy the small touch (and, of course, the movie) instead.

* * *

Inigo thought it wouldn't hurt to peek a little when Owain changed into his pyjamas. He didn't have boobs, after all, so where would the risk be?

Now Inigo was swallowing. He hadn't known he enjoyed looking at muscle just as much.

And Owain looked like he rather enjoyed working out.

Of course, he had to notice, turn towards Inigo and with a grin plastered over his face ask in a husky voice, "Wanna ogle me when I change underwear as well?"

"Nooo!" Inigo wailed, covering his whole face with his hands.

"You're overreacting," Owain said, and when he _did_ risk a peek through his fingers, Inigo found that the other boy had already changed, wearing pyjama pants. He crossed his arms and grinned broadly all the same. "Teasing you is too much fun, sorry."

"Don't do it if you're sorry!"

"Nah, I'm not really sorry." His shoulders lifted and sunk in time with his chuckle. "I'm freaking you out enough as it is, though, so I won't say anything more."

"You had something so say?" Inigo demanded and regretted it the instant the words left his mouth. Good thing he had stayed behind in the spacious bathroom (there was even a sauna there... and yes, he needed to try it out sometime) after they had brushed their teeth to change, and had just come back to Owain's room to walk in on him changing. So now he pretended his face wasn't burning with blush and shuffled under his blankets, his trusty pillow from home pressed to his face.

"Oh, lots." The grin was evident in Owain's voice. "But I don't wanna scare you even more."

"I'm not scared?" Inigo lowered his pillow to see but Owain had already switched the light off. He couldn't make out anything anymore. Great. Now he had to rely on his ears, but he couldn't hear the bunk above him creak.

"You left a different impression on me." Owain walked so lightly that his movements almost made no sound. "Wanna talk or sleep now?"

Inigo didn't have to think about this. At all. "Sleep."

He only trusted himself to close his eyes when he finally heard Owain shuffle into bed. "Well, good night, then. Sleep well and sweet dreams."

"Right," Inigo spoke into his pillow. "You, too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which aliens are mentioned and Owain gets a paintjob.

Inigo awoke to the startling sound of booming thunder. It didn't help that the next thing his poor ears had to register was Owain's passionate yell of, "RADIANT DAWN!" A third bang tore through the room the instant Owain landed on his feet after having jumped down from his bed. "ROLLING THUNDER!"

Inigo turned from him, facing the wall, pillow pressed over his ringing ears. "I didn't sign up for _this_."

"It is but a choice only you can make," Owain said and cleared his throat, "waking up to these fretful but alive sounds of the early morning glory."

"Two, no three of them were just you making noise."

"I meant: Will you grow accustomed to these habits of mine or--"

Inigo sobbed. "What makes you think I will ever sleep in your presence again?"

"Don't break my heart, grumpy cat."

"Don't break my heart, my achy-breaky heart..." Inigo sang into his pillow, which muffled the sound, but when he realised what he had done he blushed nonetheless.

"Sometimes I find your taste in music to be highly questionable."

"As if yours is any better."

"Touché." Owain chuckled. "I couldn't have possibly known you are not a morning person so here goes nothing: What do you want for breakfast?"

"You're not carrying it up here just so I can stay longer in bed."

"That was the plan." Pride dripped from his voice and Inigo decided to fight his inner demon and roll around to face Owain. His hair stuck in every direction but for some reason, this registered as "cute" in Inigo's brain. He ran a hand through his own hair, hoping that sleeping on it hadn't caused it to go wavy in places.

"Uh." He tried to look anywhere but at Owain, but his ruffled bed hair acted like a black hole, sucking in all of Inigo's attention. "How about hot chocolate and, I dunno, an apple?"

"And a slice of bread with something. You don't eat enough."

"I've eaten plenty yesterday already!"

Owain crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and as long as you have me around, I'm gonna make sure you eat enough."

"You're acting like we're married or something."

Owain only shrugged in response. "Catch a few more Zs and I'll make sure you'll experience a wonderful morning." He smiled toothily and jumped out of the room before Inigo got the chance to spike his pillow at him.

* * *

True to his words, Owain returned with a tray in his hands about, Inigo estimated, 15 minutes later. "Sit up." Groggily, Inigo did. He wanted to scowl at Owain for waking him up so remorselessly earlier, but he was just too nice at the moment so Inigo settled on a smile instead. "Careful, your chocolate's hot."

"I thought you couldn't cook." He was grinning now, taking in the mugs, plates, knives and of course the sights and smells of the food.

"Doesn't mean I don't know how to make breakfast." He placed the tray on Inigo with great care, then sat on his desk chair and scooted over to Inigo. The look on his face was full of fondness (of what, Inigo couldn't tell) and a little pride.

"Well, thank you a lot." Inigo smiled at his friend. "No one has ever brought me breakfast to bed."

"There's gotta be a first time for everything, right?"

"Right."

Inigo had just finished cutting his apple when Owain asked in a small voice, "I'm not freaking you out, am I?"

"Why do you ask?" He shoved one apple slice into his mouth. The slightly sour taste was just right.

"When I told you I like dudes your reaction kinda hurt." He didn't cast his eyes down, his light smile didn't waver. "I hang on to the hope that it just came unexpected and the situation overwhelmed you."

"Okay, I... I'm sorry, I really am. I wasn't aware it, uh, affected you this much." Owain nodded solemnly. "But I haven't run away, have I?" Inigo smiled. "And I'll remind you of the two not unimportant facts that after your revelation I still cuddled with you _and_ I slept in the same room with you. Which are all pointing towards 'Inigo's cool with it'." His smile turned into a grin.

Owain grinned even broader. "Lemme smooch you."

Inigo raised his eyebrows, narrowed his eyes slightly and put on a kissing face. He realised too late that they were virtually still talking about homosexual feelings and that Owain wasn't exactly being playful right then. He realised at the exact moment Owain pressed a short peck against his lips.

Immediately, Inigo jerked backwards (and fortunately didn't spill anything from the tray anywhere; it was still sitting on his lap as if nothing had happened). "Whoa," was all he managed. He didn't trust his voice to say anything more anyway, fearing he'd just stutter uncontrollably.

Owain looked at him with the most concerned expression ever plastered on his face, eyebrows raised so high that they almost touched his hairline. "I didn't mean to freak you out! I thought it would be okay. You looked like you were making a kissy face... and," a blush crept up his neck, and Owain averted his eyes and touched the back of his head, "well, your hair is cute today and you looked like you wanted it anyway and I thought what could go wrong, you basically just said it's okay to be gay--"

"Stop. Cut. No more." Inigo waved his hands in front of his body. Owain reluctantly rested his eyes on Inigo's once again. They were full of regret and unspoken apologies. He opened his mouth but Inigo spoke before he gave Owain the chance to ramble even more. He didn't care how much he was blushing himself right at the moment, he just needed to clear his mind and get this out of his system. "It wasn't meant as an invitation to just kiss me! I thought you were kidding."

"I kinda was, but the temptation was one even a usually strong-willed young man like the gre--"

"You're hiding behind your persona thing. Owain, look at me."

"And it wasn't even a real kiss, it was just li--"

"Can't you shut up for at least ten seconds and listen?" Owain remained silent and looked at Inigo like a kicked puppy. "Thank you." He let out a ragged sigh. "Remember when I told you I was confused? Twice?" Owain nodded. "I-I meant it as i-in," he took a shaky breath, twirling around his earring, face hot with blush, "se-se-sexually confused."

Blinking, Owain dared to ask, "So you're telling me you're not as straight as you thought."

"Right." The word came out as a whisper, so Inigo cleared his throat. His face grew hotter by the second. "A-And, you know, you're like this b-big teddy bear, like, you're a little eccentric at times but I actually think you're kind of cute, and I like cuddling with you, and perhaps I even might have possibly liked the k-kiss just now. Maybe." It came out sounding more like a question and Inigo was close to hiding his face in his hands or his pillow.

Owain reached out for his arm and held his wrist in a steady grip as Inigo was about to do just that. He met Owain's gaze with uncertainty, saw the broad, idiotic grin plastered all over his face and wasn't able to resist the urge to smile a little in return. "That's the best news I could have woken up to. Because the guy I happen to have a crush on," he leaned in so close his hot breath against Inigo's ear sent shivers down the younger boy's body, "is you."

Inigo's eyes widened even though he wanted to squeeze them shut and pretend he was asleep and this wasn't happening. His heart went so fast he feared it might give out any beat now. "What now...?" he whispered, dragging out the question as if this would delay the dreaded answer by any significance.

"Breakfast?" Owain suggested and reached for an apple slice on the tray still sprawled over Inigo.

Inigo blinked. He had not expected this. "I-I thought you were gonna go all mushy on me!" he said, watching Owain eat nonchalantly. "I'm in no shape to eat breakfast now..."

"To deny food..." He shook his head in a dramatic fashion, then he got up and sat down next to Inigo. "In favour of what?" He pried the tray from Inigo in anticipation and set it down on his chair.

"You're ta-taking it from me!" Inigo protested in vain. Owain was already back at his side, grinning, blushing, biting his lower lip, and didn't he look way too cute when he did that?

He met Owain's gaze. He was closer than Inigo had expected, so close even that he could hardly make out his features without them going blurry. A flash of white indicated his grin. "Now I'm gonna smooch you for real. Any objections?"

A weak, "I don't know how," was all Inigo, blushing mess extraordinaire, managed to croak.

"Let me teach you," Owain whispered. Inigo tilted his head a little more towards his friend (or whatever they were now). "Don't look so uncertain. You're gonna like it. And if not, then," Owain shrugged, "I'm fine with just cuddling you to death."

"Very reassuring."

Owain chuckled and leaned in. The kiss lasted longer than the short peck from before, and during a few more of these careful gestures, Owain dug his fingers into Inigo's hair. Somehow, their kissing became more messy and uncoordinated the longer they kept at it, a clash of lips and teeth and tongues.

When they broke apart, Inigo slumped into his covers. What had they been thinking? Probably nothing at all, and now everything was _weird_. But it had felt so good and so right, and he would do it, he would kiss Owain, again, without a second's hesitation if someone asked him to.

With an expression that must have looked even more uncertain than the one from before, Inigo shifted his gaze to Owain. He grinned like he just won a jackpot and shoving another apple slice down his throat. Simultaneously. Gross. When he noticed Inigo staring, now expression more disgusted than uncertain, he said, "You don't look like you liked it."

"I'm just wondering in retrospect how I could've liked kissing such a swine."

"So you did," Owain said, his grin turning smug. "Wanna be my boyfriend?"

Inigo's brain chose that exact moment to replay a horrible sound of train brakes screeching against the metalwork of the rails. A lightheadedness set in then, like he was close to fainting. He giggled and said, "This is all so weird. Like, if someone told me two days ago I'd score myself a _boy_ friend of all things, I would have probably laughed at them." He knew he was blushing madly and averted his gaze. It freaked him out already that his stutter hadn't crept back into his speech, all the tension drained away from him. "But here I am. Here we are."

"This is a 'yes', right?" Thunder cackled again, far-off sounding.

"Yeah." Inigo grinned. His cheeks were bright red but he didn't care. Owain looked just as bad, flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears. No, it didn't make him look bad but rather unfair amounts of cute. Inigo leaned to him and rested his head against his chest. His heart was racing and its pace almost in synch with Inigo's. "My hot chocolate's probably gone cold."

Owain shrugged against him. "Well, you got a hot stud instead."

"Wow. You don't sound conceited at all." Owain chuckled. "Also, 'stud'? Uh, I'm... A-Aren't we moving on a little too fast?" Owain's chuckle turned into laughter.

"I told you several times already that I won't try anything." Owain tackled Inigo with his shoulder, making the younger teen fall back on his back. Then, Owain climbed on top of him and smiled, no, smirked down at Inigo's widened eyes and parted lips. He leaned down to kiss him.

Inigo turned his head away after not even a minute, muttering, "Your actions contradict your words."

"My bad. I can't resist. You're too cute, Inigo."

"I-I'm not cute!"

"Shut your pretty little mouth," Owain laughed.

"My mouth is not little!" He turned his head back in protest and stared right into Owain's eyes. Which sparkled with a retort Inigo would regret hearing. Bracing himself for it, he asked, "What?"

"We'll hopefully see about that someday."

Inigo scowled, not understanding. "And by the way, don't start blaming _me_ for not having yourself in check!"

"Oh my gods," Owain radiated excitement, "our first fight!"

"Stupid!" Inigo shoved at Owain even though he assumed this move would be in vain. He had not predicted, however, Owain's limbs turning to jelly and having the older teen crash down onto him. "Ouch."

Owain was a mess armed with a girly giggle and a cute charm that worked wonders on Inigo. He couldn't even pretend to stay mad at him. His heart was running a marathon, his blood rushing all up to his head, making him feel like he was falling. And perhaps he was. He slung his arms around Owain's frame, a still giggling heap of... those muscles felt good, even through the fabric of his pyjamas.

It was nice, just closing his eyes and taking in this sudden bliss through his fingers and his nose (Owain smelled good, and Inigo made a mental note to "borrow" his shampoo).

"It's funny," Inigo said, suspecting he was starting to repeat himself. "I've never been so... happy doesn't quite cover it."

"What about 'ecstatic'?" Owain grinned. "'Elated'? 'Thrilled'? 'Fortunate'? 'Overjoyed'? 'Merry'? 'Upbeat'? 'Please--'"

Inigo rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. He shut them against the pain before glaring at Owain. "Are you done pretending to be a walking synonym dictionary?"

"'Thesaurus'." Owain's grin widened.

Inigo pushed at Owain. He reacted by rolling over to his side and meeting the floor with a thump. Inigo looked down from the bed. Owain was still grinning but rubbing at the back of his head now as well, so Inigo asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Only uncool." He grimaced a little as if he were in pain, then sat up. "It's not easy to impress your boyfriend."

"At least you're leaving an impression." Inigo grinned cheekily, and Owain shoved playfully at him. "Also, you love saying, 'boyfriend', don't you?"

Owain shrugged. "It's like a title. Being entitled..." he raised an eyebrow, "sounds positive. Don't you think?"

"Uh, does this mean I get boyfriend privileges now?" The word tasted weird on his tongue. No, not weird, just a little alien, and he was certain he'd grow to like it in no time. His heart beat a little too fast to be considered healthy, but this was something he'd get in check eventually. He hoped.

"Yep! For example, kissing, excessive cuddling, and," his face shone with excitement, "doing sappy couple stuff!"

"Meaning...?"

"Watching Titanic and slow dancing, by the way, you gotta teach me that one," Inigo nodded, "and having candlelight dinners and holding hands in public and giving each other rose bouquets and ice skating and--"

"Okay," Inigo interrupted, desperate, "I get it. You're a hopeless romantic."

"This," Owain's excited grin grew mischievous, "hits the spot."

"Riiight." Inigo cleared his throat. "By the way, is the thunderstorm over?"

Owain pushed himself up and looked out of the window. "It's clearing up already."

"Great...! Can I take a shower, then?"

"Sure. I'm just... gonna make more breakfast. We kind of lost track of the time there." Owain kept gazing out the window, blushing from the memory.

The display made Inigo smile. He got up from the bed and rummaged through his bag for a clean change of clothes, then turned to face Owain. "I'd do it again."

Owain turned towards him, grinned, and approached him with open arms. Scooping Inigo up (yes, _up_ , he had to notice when ended up standing on his tiptoes) in a crushing bear hug, he whispered, "Now?"

"Y-Yes."

Owain lessened the force of his hug so that Inigo could regain his steady footing. Which he needed, because the tender kiss was making him all jittery, turning his knees to jelly while something in his stomach fluttered worse than his hammering heart. It was nothing like the uncoordinated clash of lips and tongues from before but instead a true gesture of caring and affection. And yet it was everything Inigo wanted at the moment.

They parted when Owain took a step back, his hands lingering on Inigo's shoulders. His whole face was coloured a rosy pink, which somehow complemented his freckles. He put on the brightest, cutest grin Inigo had ever seen, and it make his chest ache. He hoped he would never forget this moment.

"I have a question that's certainly going to ruin the mood," Inigo proposed, putting on a smile he hoped looked charming.

Owain raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Spill it."

"I managed to forget my razor and you know how it is."

"You still look fine." Owain cupped his face with one hand and Inigo leaned into the gentle touch. "And your face sure doesn't feel... beardy." He grinned. "Still gotta grow into full manhood, I see."

"Shut up!" Inigo withdrew and turned around, blushing and stomping off towards the bathroom. He'd have to check for stubble himself. Owain was an unreliable source and seemed to live by the proverb that teasing was a sign of affection or something.

Inigo inspected himself in the big bathroom mirror. Unlike Owain, he knew where to look for unwanted stubble. Unlike Owain, he also knew that his facial hair grew at a snail's pace. But having woken up to too much beard for his taste once had scarred Inigo for life, and he made sure to check every morning.

He froze when someone wrapped their strong arms around his waist, one of them holding a razor, the other one shaving foam. Owain rested his head on Inigo's left shoulder, smiling at him through the mirror's reflection. "I don't want your day to be ruined."

Inigo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Aren't you a thoughtful and considerate boyfriend?"

"Aren't I?" Owain grinned in self-satisfaction.

"This was sarcasm."

"Your attack modifier isn't high enough to wound my ego."

Inigo leaned his head towards Owain, not caring that the blond would end up with his hair in his face. "Keep telling yourself this and you won't even notice until it's too late that I've successfully found my way past all your defences right into your heart."

"Oh, but you already have." Owain tilted his head and press a peck to his cheek. He placed the items he still held in his hands to either side of the sink in front of Inigo.

"So I _can_ wound your ego."

"You won," Owain admitted in a little voice. "This time. But I will prepare myself for your next blow!" With that, he dashed out of the room.

Shaking his head, Inigo sighed and locked the door. He wasn't ready for Owain walking in on him, and him having managed to creep up on him without him noticing was making Inigo jumpy. He didn't want this to happen again, especially not when he was stark naked.

* * *

The one sentence Owain uttered during breakfast that hadn't anything to do with Inigo's, in the blond's opinion, perfect hair (no, Inigo wouldn't take up on the offer to advertise for shampoo and other hair products in Owain's uncle's company) was: "We still have a lot of potatoes left."

"So what?" Owain grinned, mischief spreading over his face. "I'm not sure I'm still interested."

"Oh, no, just wanna get artsy!"

"Artsy? With potatoes?"

"Don't look so incredulous! Have you ever experienced the pure bliss of soaking rubber stamps in ink and then ruining your parents' bedsheets with your tools of the devil?" Owain covered half his face with his right hand.

Inigo emptied his hot chocolate mug. "I'm not going into your parents' bedroom."

"Ha! That's not what I'm getting at." Owain's eyes sparkled before his eyebrows drew in. "Yet misleading you has not been my intention."

"Speak like a normal person, please."

"Yes, darling." He grinned again, cheekily.

"No."

"Um, 'no, darling'?"

"No 'darling'! We're, like..." Inigo blushed. "We've been together for, like, an hour or so, so please," he raised his voice to make his point clear, "no affectionate nicknames at this stage." He sighed when Owain looked more hurt than he would have after having been run over by a truck. "In, I don't know, a couple of months, like, whenever I get used to the idea of dating you dork, _then_ you may call me whatever you like. But. Not yet. Please."

Owain smiled throughout this explanation. "Duly noted." His smile turned into a grin. "Anyway, aside from cooking, I'm actually a kinda crafty person, so I was thinking about making potato stamps and putting prints everywhere."

"You can make stamps out of potatoes?"

Owain inhaled in a way that sounded so overdramatic it was ridiculous. Inigo snorted and hid his mouth behind his hand. "You were not aware? Inigo, your ignorance frightens me."

"It's not contagio-- I'm not stupid!?"

"I didn't say that." Owain's grin became sheepish. "You can be smart and not have a lot of knowledge, but pick things up with ease. That's what makes you smart. Not how much you know, but how well you learn."

"Well, according to my school grades--" Inigo averted his eyes.

"Which are not representative of one's smartness, I might add."

"Thanks." Inigo smiled wryly although Owain's words did cheer him up. "By the way, are you good at school?"

Owain put their breakfast tray away, then fetched some potatoes from the basket and laid them on the kitchen counter. "Yeah."

Inigo pouted. "Unfair."

"Hey, don't let it get to you. It's just stupid standardised tests that don't really measure anything. And it could be that you're just not used to high school yet." He handed Inigo one of the two knives he was holding. "Trust me, it doesn't get harder each year, despite what your teachers tell you. They've probably only been at school and college their whole lives anyway." Owain leaned down to smile at Inigo, who was misusing the kitchen counter as a pillow. "You gotta conquer your weaknesses. Turn them into your strengths."

"Funny."

"What is?"

"My mum tells me the exact same thing. I, uh, I'm actually kinda shy, and I try to be this outgoing kid, but I can't even bring myself to tell my friends I like dancing."

"You told me. And not just now." Owain's expression grew more affectionate. "See? You're already making progress."

"It... It just felt like the right thing to do. I knew I could trust you with it."

"I hope you can trust me with more than this." Owain laughed and scooped a little closer, his nose almost touching Inigo's. "Relationships are all about trust. Even more so long-distance ones."

"Shit." Inigo's eyes widened at the dawning realisation.

It was hard to tell due to their proximity that Owain looked confused. "What is it?"

"Long-distance relationship." Not seeing Owain at least once a week in person. Not being able to hold him and kiss him. They couldn't just move into each other's vicinity, or meet halfway; they were still high schoolers. "I'm not sure if I'm cut out for this."

Owain shrugged and put on a smile again. "We won't know until we try. And I'll fight for this to work out if I have to." His smile turned into a playful grin. "You're my precious..."

"That last part was creepy." Inigo heaved himself up to sit upright. "But you're right. And thank you." He leaned forward the last couple of centimetres to close the gap between their lips, Owain meeting him halfway with a happy hum.

Neither of them would give the other the satisfaction of pulling back first. Somehow, Owain's hands and Inigo's hair were tangled again, Inigo holding Owain close by his shirt's collar, and the kiss had turned deeper and more sensual the longer they stayed at it.

Inigo lost himself in the kiss and his thoughts drifted to places he was uncomfortable with. Not R-18 uncomfortable, no, but does-not-fit-the-situation uncomfortable. When he giggled, Owain asked against his mouth, "What're thinking about?"

"This is awkward and I hereby apologise in advance." Inigo sat back to properly look at Owain. "In my head I described, like, every room I walked into as 'spacious'." In response, Owain tilted his head to the side and drew up his eyebrows. Inigo giggled. "Your expressions are the best. I can't read them all, but... someday..."

"Lettuce."

"What?"

"Lettuce. It means, 'Never give up'." Owain grinned.

Inigo's eyes widened. "No. No no no no no."

"What's wrong?"

"My earworm is making a comeback." Rick Astley's deep voice became louder and harder to ignore by the microsecond. Inigo explained in the hopes to shut him out. "We didn't know each other back then. My friend is this internet addict, and she shows me, like, _everything_. And I'm," Gerome's words rang in his head again, "too gullible." Inigo made a face.

Owain's eyes widened and his grin grew greater. "She rick-rolled you?"

"Seven times in a row." Inigo squeezed his eyes shut at the memory.

"No."

"Yes."

Owain started laughing. So hard that he had to hold his stomach and wipe the tears from his eyes. So hard that at some point he couldn't hold himself up anymore, and Inigo had to walk around the kitchen counter and help him to his feet again. So hard that he had to excuse himself to the bathroom in a wheezing voice.

When he came back after a few more minutes, Inigo having waited in front of the door, he stumbled right into the younger teen's arms. Inigo struggled with holding him up (yes, Owain was still heavy), but before his legs gave in, Owain managed to straighten himself and stand on his own.

"My mouth hurts from laughing so much."

"This reminds me of yesterday." Inigo followed Owain back into the kitchen.

"Funny, huh? And we're even doing stuff with potatoes again!" Owain grinned, grimaced, and covered his mouth, rubbing at it with the palm of his hand.

"Oh, you're right."

"Aren't I always?" The blond chuckled and took one of the knives, cutting a potato in half. "Wait a sec, I'm getting a pen so we can sketch the shape before cutting around it. And I just realised we won't need more than one potato for two stamps, so you can make yourself useful by putting the others back." A sheepish grin covered his face as he dashed out of the room.

Inigo shook his head but did as he was told. Owain came back with two felt tip pens in tow, regarding them uneasily. "What, you afraid of pens?" Inigo smiled.

"No, but afraid we might break them."

"You can always get new ones."

"That's true." Owain grinned, spirits lifted again. He handed one of the pens to Inigo and took one half of the cut potato. "You know how it works, right?"

"You explained it, like, a minute ago, doofus."

"I hereby regret to inform you that I, the great Owain, Scion of Legend, am not a 'doofus', as you have unfittingly titled my humble personage." Owain sketched on his potato while he talked. "Instead, I act as a source of information and knowledge."

"I was gonna say that you're still adorkable, you know."

"'Adorkable'?" Owain hummed, arms crossed, and nodded. "What an appropriate yet seldom heard descript--"

"21st century."

Owain laughed. "Roger." He took the barstool next to Inigo and uncapped his pen.

"By the way, what are we gonna print on?" Inigo asked, already drawing lines onto his half of the potato.

Owain started working on his stamp, too. "Test it on a sheet of paper and then plaster my shelf in these prints. Well, as long as you're not making dick prints."

"I'm not _that_ tasteless, thank you very much."

Owain grinned. "Credit where it's due." He cut away about a centimetre worth of potato around the shape he'd sketched on it before.

"Right. So, anyway, that shelf you were you talking about... Is it the one with the stars?" Inigo was cutting away now, too.

"Yep! Some of them are foam rubber and paper cut-outs, but the rest are printed on."

"Didn't this take, like, forever?"

Owain chuckled. "Time flies when you're occupied with something you like a lot." He turned to face Inigo, potato finished. "Or someone."

Inigo grinned at him. "Trying to score a kiss, are ya?"

"I can't resist your impeccable charms," was all Owain managed before Inigo shut his horrible persona speech up with a short kiss.

"I'm finished, by the way." Inigo wasn't sure if he should show his creation to Owain, though. He had wanted to make something simple but strong. His head had been occupied by Rick Astley and hearts when he started so he went with the latter. But now he realised what a sap he was and he didn't want Owain to laugh at him.

"Me, too," Owain announced and got up. He didn't show his piece to Inigo, either, so the younger teen swallowed his self-consciousness and followed Owain upstairs into his room. "I don't know which colour you need, but, well, standard ink is this atrocious blue screen tone and I don't need that in my room."

"What's a blue screen?"

"You must be blessed if you've never encountered one... Happens when your trusty Windows computer does just that and goes outta the window. Well, sometimes it happens when it freezes." He flashed Inigo a lop-sided grin. "It looks horrible, trust me."

"Okay." Owain rummaged through the drawers of his desk with the quill and dug out a whole set with ink pads in various colours. Inigo inched closer and peeked over Owain's shoulder.

"Which colour do you need?" he asked, setting the whole pad set on his desk.

Inigo turned to inspect the shelf adorned with the stars. Most of them were yellow, but some of them were silver or a deep and rich blue. Some looked like they even sparkled (but he knew they didn't, there was just glitter on them). The shelf itself was a rich mahogany or something; Inigo wasn't acquainted with different wood sorts. It was a reddish brown, at any rate.

The teen thought about which colours would go well with those already given, and of course which colour a heart would look acceptable in. "Well," he said, dreading having to voice his thoughts, "you probably don't have pink."

"Oh, you'll be surprised." Owain opened one of the ink pads and true to his words, an aggressive neon pink came close to permanently blinding Inigo. "It's not that... intense on paper. But I'd still get some ink off first by just putting a print on a sheet, then on the shelf. I don't need violent, glow-in-the-dark pink in my room." He turned and grinned at Inigo. "But now I'm curious what you made that's _pink_."

"Welllllll," Inigo said, drawing out the word, "you'll see during the print test anyway, right?" He grinned one of his practised smiles and hoped that would do.

It did.

But only for a couple of more seconds, until Owain had procured a sheet of paper from the same drawer (it had been stacked under the ink pads and Inigo hadn't given the drawer any attention). Sighing, Inigo pushed his potato half into the ink pad before pressing it against the paper sheet. He didn't want to lift it even though he knew he had to or Owain _did_ have a reason to laugh at him.

He didn't.

Instead, he said, "Oh my gods."

"What's wrong?" Inigo asked in a little voice.

"Nothing!" Owain turned and gave Inigo a tight hug. "We're soulmates or something." He turned around again and copied Inigo's prior movements to make a print. His potato stamp left a heart, just like Inigo's had (albeit shaped more evenly). "Look! We're the same!" He bounced up and down. "Sorry, that's my idle animation."

"What."

"Nothing!" His grin widened. "I'm excited because we match! We both chose to make heart-shaped potato prints, and I think that's _pret-ty_ neat."

"Phrased like this, yeah, you're right." Inigo grinned. "It's cool."

Owain scooped Inigo up in another hug. He pulled him to his tiptoes and Inigo considered all his life choices up to this moment. He wasn't used to being the smaller party, and he sure as hell wasn't used to not having his feet completely placed on the ground and on top of that being at the mercy of whoever it was who pulled him up.

Owain hadn't done anything to sound Inigo's alarm, though, so the younger teen returned the hug and nuzzled closer. Owain pecked him on the cheek before whispering, "We should totally cuddle all night long."

"Uh, how? Or rather, where?"

"Next door. The couch doubles as a sleeping couch. King-sized. Not quite as comfortable as an actual bed, but..."

"You make a good pillow."

Owain laughed and let go of Inigo. "I haven't yet evaluated _your_ pillow qualities--"

"You're so heavy!" Inigo complained, and covered his mouth as soon as the words had left it.

"Objection! I can make myself light when I wish to."

"'Objection'? Uh." Inigo's eyebrows drew in in confusion. "Anyway, the few times I, uhm, experienced your weight, I was afraid I would get crushed."

"Objection! That was only because I did not realise your lack of muscle."

"Yeah, well," Inigo crossed his arms and, pouting, turned to gaze out the French windows, "not everyone wants to look like a freaking bear."

"You like it on others, though." Owain stepped into Inigo's field of vision and grinned at him. "At least on me. I caught you staring yesterday."

Inigo averted his eyes. His face started to burn and he wanted to cover it with his hands in a desperate attempt to hide it from Owain's snickering mug. "I... I don't know what you're talking about..."

"This." Owain grabbed Inigo's free hand and laid it on his tummy. "If you want to, you can put your hand under my t-shi--"

"Hell no!" Inigo pulled his hand back and took a few careful steps away from Owain. "Like, I'm... Sorry, I'm not ready for this."

Owain shrugged, but his face betrayed his disappointment. "Whenever you decide you want to move things one little step further," he shrugged again, "just go for it, tiger."

Inigo opened his mouth to give some sort of retort, but thought better of it and instead settled on, "Let's make your shelf prettier."

Owain nodded in agreement, closed the pink ink pad and carried it and the already printed-on sheet of paper to the shelf in question. When he passed Inigo, he leaned in as if he was about to give him a peck on the lips, but only said, "Be a little nicer to your elders."

Inigo made an angry sound as to not swear and followed Owain.

There was plenty of space between the stars left on it. In (what at least felt like) no time the boys had covered a good portion of the before-free space with hearts and somehow they were covering each other in prints now, laughing and arms and faces already glowing pink with ink.

"Wait a sec," Owain said, and Inigo froze mid-print. "This stuff won't get out of our clothes. It's either shirtless, which I'm cool with by the way, or we gotta stop."

Inigo hummed. This was a hard decision to make, moreso since he refused to have his mind occupied with Owain's stupid abs earlier. But he didn't want to ruin the mood by acting like a stuck-up prude, and printing pink hearts all over Owain turned out to be a lot of fun (not to mention that the colour complemented his flushed cheeks and oddly enough, his hair, incredibly well). The boy put on a grin and said, "Show me what you've got."

Owain chuckled. "Wanna see me pull off a strip tease?"

This caused Inigo to laugh. "Nope. Just wanna paint your nipples neon pink."

Owain shrugged, set his tools on his shelf and pulled off his t-shirt. Inigo's mouth went dry as he watched Owain discard of the white piece of clothing. He looked better up close, and better in daylight, and overall just unfairly good. More than good. Best.

Swallowing, Inigo cast his eyes down to the ink pad he held, pressed his potato against it and, with a shaking hand, against Owain's pecs. "Th-They're not gonna glow in the dark, right?"

"You'll be surprised."

"Please tell me you're just kidding."

Owain laughed. "Just kidding. I should grab a shower this evening, though." He shrugged and smeared Inigo's next attempt to plaster him with bright pink hearts. "I just had _the_ idea."

"I'm expecting bad news."

"Nah." Owain ruffled Inigo's hair, his hand lingering and starting to massage. Inigo smiled to himself. "I made breakfast while you were showering so it's only logical you should prepare dinner while I'm off showering."

Inigo sighed. "What do you have in mind? Mashed potatoes with boiled potatoes and, I don't know, I could fry some more potatoes to round up the dish?"

"I'm feeling it."

"I was kidding." Inigo shook his head in disbelief.

"...Not feeling it." Owain's head dropped. "By the way, nice work."

He was smeared in pink ink (mainly because Inigo's hand shook rather badly whenever he steered it towards his boyfriend's chest), making him look like he suffered a severe sunburn. "It looks nasty if you ask me."

"Yeah, like some of my skin came off." Owain grinned, Inigo hid his face in his hands. Why did his own skin hurt now? He cursed his active imagination on occasions such as these. "It doesn't hurt. I just feel... unclean."

"Please get this off."

"Make me." Owain's grin widened.

Inigo was close to slapping his hand against his own face, and he was glad he couldn't because it was already there. Instead, he removed it, stomped off towards the bathroom and called, "You coming or not?"

"I'd tease you some more," Owain answered, voice growing loader as he neared Inigo, "but having your hands all over my chest is already satisfaction enough." He leaned against the bathroom's door frame, raising his head and reminding Inigo of that one horrible porn movie his "friends" sent him during middle school. Except Owain looked ridiculous with pink ink hearts plastered all over his torso, and of course he looked light years better. Inigo gulped.

"That's not gonna turn you on, is it?"

Owain approached him, taking a pink-coloured towel on the way, and shrugged. "How should I know?" He sat on the rim of the bathtub and looked Inigo straight in the eyes. "But if it's any consolation to you: I won't try anything if it _should_. Yeah, awkward, but wow, we're teenagers. It happens. Deal with it." He put on a cheeky grin. "And it's not my fault you're so hot."

"H-H-Hot..." Inigo gulped. He had counted on weird compliments making his list of things to worry about even longer, but _this_ caused something in his brain to go haywire. "Uhm," he struggled, tongue tied and mouth oh so dry all of a sudden, "uh, you're... hotter?"

"Thanks. But. Are you asking me for my own opinion or are you not sure how to react?"

"The latter." Inigo pried the towel from Owain's hands and soaked it in water. "Sorry. I'm... not used to being, well, not straight."

"It's okay." Owain grinned. "I'm happy you got over your heterosexuality."

"Don't talk like it's a bad thing."

"No, but gay erasure is. And homophobia is. And not listening to your heart and reacting to your feelings because the person you happen to have a crush on is your own sex is." His grin turned into a smile, radiating with happiness and turning his cheeks underneath the ink a more natural, rosy colour. "I'm glad you decided to give it a shot."

"You know," Inigo said when he was sure Owain had finished his little speech, "you're really good at cheering me up."

"That's what I'm there for."

"No, you're not. You don't have to do anything for me and yet you do and make me feel special and all giddy and like I'm... okay, I guess I _am_ falling for the first time in my life. For real. Not... I don't know. It's different from all the girls before you. I never even had the balls to ask any of them for their numbers. I'm actually this big loser and I don't know what you're seeing in me but I'm seriously happy that you do... uh... see something positive, I guess?"

"You're not giving yourself enough credit, Inigo." Owain leaned in and kissed him and did it feel good, and it was slow and tender and over all too soon. But there were things to be done, and Inigo could get all the smooching he wanted later in the day.

So he got to soap Owain's chest and rub at it with the towel until the skin looked little different from before but Owain assured him it was merely irritated skin and not remains of the ink. He even made Inigo smell to convince him he was right.

When they were finished Inigo felt conflicted, though, because he couldn't decide whether to be glad this exposure to Owain's body was over or if he liked touching him. More than he wanted to admit to himself.

* * *

"We should totally snapchat Gerome something," Inigo said after dinner (consisting of miraculously no potatoes at all, because there were enough vegetables in the fridge to make a colourful and just as delicious vegan pan even Owain loved, considering the lack of his favourite vegetable). They had ended up in Owain's room and were doing... not really anything. Inigo laid sprawled out over the bottom bunk and studied the wall opposite him, the photos plastered against the wall. Some showed Owain, some his cousin, and most of them people Inigo didn't know. A pang of jealousy twisted in his gut but he told himself not to worry. They were just Owain's friends. He wasn't polyamorous, right?

"What do you mean?" Owain looked down from his bed, upside down like a bat. "And who's Gerome?"

"Gerome is the redhead who came to pick me up when I first talked to you. One of my friends. And," Inigo sighed, "he always finds a way to make me look stupid. He said I'd never get a girlfriend."

"Well," Owain raised an eyebrow, which made him look all the more ridiculous, "so far, he's not wrong."

"No, _but_ instead I now have a cool boyfriend! And when we send Gerome a snapchat of us, I don't know, cheek pecking, he will _fume_."

"Oh." Owain grinned smugly. "I like your way of thinking. I _love_ setting things and people on fire."

"Are you my Homeroom teacher?"

"Not yet."

"Don't scare me. And anyway, I don't want to burn him."

"Well, is he a witch?"

Inigo's mind displayed a picture of Noire, and he gulped. "No."

"Stupid me, witches are female. So, is he a sor--"

"No! He does not indulge in magic and sorcery of any kind whatsoever. He's just an irritating smart-ass."

"Okay," Owain grinned, "we're gonna get back at him for his unacceptable behaviour towards you in a second," he raised one of his hands, causing him to dangle dangerously, and making him look like a fool because his finger pointed at the floor, "but I have one question first."

"And I have an order and that's get your fucking hand back to somewhere where you can steady yourself and not give me a heart attack from almost falling to your death!"

"Yes, babe."

Inigo was close to voicing his dismay at the inappropriate nickname, but seeing as Owain obliged and put his hand back up somewhere, he decided to let it slide. "Now that that's outta the way... what's your question?"

"How do you know your teacher likes setting things on fire?"

"We've been reading this horrible novel in Lit. Uh, my Homeroom teacher is also my Lit teacher. Anyway, the characters in that novel talked about how to best burn down the school. And then, I don't know, my teacher started, like, fanboying about the different properties of wood and which one to use best in a situation such as this. Like, when you want to start a campfire." Owain snickered and a smile spread over Inigo's face. "And he just wouldn't stop talking. Somehow, like five minutes into his tirade, it was all about arson and petrol and gasoline and I don't even know what else. And, you know, we were all sitting there, dumbfounded, because our teacher conveniently gave us a guide on how to best set buildings on fire."

"And you're telling me _my_ teachers are weird."

"There's a potato fetishist and let's not forget about that white-haired creep who presented your slam."

"Hey!" Owain disappeared before throwing a pillow at Inigo's face with perfect aim. "He has his good points. He makes funny puns, he can talk to animals, I swear, he befriends all kinds of grizzlies and wolves--"

"This sounds dangerous."

"He's... not a good moral compass. But you have to see past people's flaws! Believe in their good intentions!"

Inigo sighed. "That's probably the only reason I'm friends with Gerome."

Owain grinned, hanging upside down again. "And we've come full circle!"

"Heh." Inigo chuckled. "You're right." He sat up to pull his phone out of his pants pocket. "Come down, we've got stupid selfies to make!"

Inigo should have seen it coming when Owain jumped down his bed again, but he hadn't, and inhaled sharply at the impact. Which was a good thing because his heart gave when Owain yelled, "SHADOW DRAGON!"

"You're _not_ a dragon!" Inigo hid his face in the pillow Owain had planted there earlier, partly to drown out the noise originating from his idiot of a boyfriend, partly to hide the blush his second-hand embarrassment was painting over his face.

"It is but one of the nefarious beasts of the night--"

"Please limit your vocabulary to speak like a person living in the here and now."

"Would you annihilate our still blossoming relationship over my inappropriate yet correct choice of terms?"

"...Eventually, yes." Anything to make him shut up, Inigo thought, eyes squeezed shut.

"Aw, then I won't get to say that you may get to use your device to freeze our past guises in time."

"No, you won't. ...But you kind of already have." Owain giggled with glee. "You're stupid!"

"I'm a guy. Gotta goof around." He grinned broadly at Inigo when he finally dared look. Owain didn't miss another beat and jumped next to Inigo, pulling him into an almost choking hug.

When he let go, Inigo wheezed, "You make me lose faith in humanity."

"That's pushing it, drama queen." Inigo stuck out his tongue, too late realising this was the perfect excuse for Owain to initiate a lengthy make out session. Inigo whimpered when they broke apart half an hour later, Owain sprawled over him and not all that heavy. "Now that we're all warmed up, we can make your friend feel foolish." "I've been waiting for this." He patted the mattress to locate his phone.

They took a few photos, settling on one they shot on accident when Inigo slipped with his finger because Owain kissed him on the cheek without forewarning. But because of not having been planned, it looked the most natural out of them all and even Inigo who thought of himself as not very photogenic had to admit that he liked the picture. A lot.

"What should I caption this?" Inigo glanced over to Owain from his position of being pressed up between the wall and the blond.

"'T. F. W. No. G. F."

"What does this mean?" Inigo asked, already typing.

"'That feel when no girlfriend.'" Owain snickered. "It's a meme or something."

"Oh." Inigo laughed out loud. "Gerome's gonna rip my head off."

"...Is he?" Owain sounded unsure.

"Nah, he's just gonna kick my ass. But he deserves this." And before Owain could raise an objection, Inigo sent the picture.

"You think he's gonna reply?"

"Yep." As soon as he'd said it, his phone screen flashed with a reply from Gerome. "See?" The picture showed Gerome in mock-surprise, hand hiding his open mouth. The screen read, "conglaturation". A ping signalled an in-coming message Inigo opened with a frown. It was from Gerome, as expected, and linked to an article about how to keep your long-distance relationship going.

"Wow," Owain commented, "he _is_ a smart ass."

"No shit, Sherlock."

He nudged Inigo, causing him to look at him. Owain grinned like a fox. "But so am I."

"...Frankly, I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

"Aw, c'mon. I want to make my boyfriend proud of me! Gimme a chance." Owain made a pouty face, making him look like a five-year-old.

" _One_." Owain's eyebrows drew down in a scowl. "That's _your_ terms."

"Touché." He glanced up at the underside of his own bunk before he turned his head back toward Inigo. "So, is Gerome dating anyone?"

"He says he has a girlfriend. I've never seen her, though. I don't know anything about her."

Owain nodded. "Go on. Make him spill it. Text something along the lines of, 'At least I can prove I'm taken.'"

Inigo hummed in agreement and typed what Owain had suggested. The blond shifted into a more upright sitting position. When Inigo hit send and turned to look at him, Owain grinned with rosy cheeks and pulled Inigo into his lap. "What's this all about?"

"Proving my pillow qualities."

"I was already aware of them..." Inigo leant back and settled against his boyfriend's chest.

Owain hugged Inigo from behind and laid his head on his shoulder. "Then make good use of 'em as long as you're here."

"Don't remind me," Inigo said.

His phone pinged, signalling a new snapchat message. The photo showed a framed photo of Gerome with an equally redheaded girl, wearing her long hair in a pair of not girly-looking pigtails. Her expression showed that she didn't smile often, but she didn't have to smile to register as beautiful to Inigo. She was simply on the sexy side of the scale instead of the cute one. The snapchat banner read, "here u go, ini go".

Owain snorted. Before he got the chance to say anything, Inigo scolded, "Don't."

"Okay." Owain tightened his hug to draw Inigo even closer. "That doesn't prove a lot, though. Let's take another lovey-dovey couple pic and tease him he's alone at the moment."

Somehow, the very first photo Inigo took turned out to be actually good. It showed their intimate hug and the way they leaned against each other, and that was already saying a lot (at least for guys). Inigo captioned it, "u all alone rn huh?".

Gerome responded immediately, his smile blinding. "nope!" Owain and Inigo exchanged a quick glance, then the next message came in. It showed Gerome's desk and a lot of paperwork sprawled on top of it. "date w/ presentation due tuesday"

Inigo's eyes widened. "Shit. I forgot all about that."

Owain loosened his grip before putting more pressure into the hug again. "When's your presentation due?"

"Thursday. ...I think."

"Okay, don't panic. You still have plenty of time left, and if you go it on with a plan, you'll be finished in no time."

"But I don't _have_ a plan!" Inigo slumped and Owain pulled him up again.

"You're forgetting that you have me instead."

"And that's gonna help how?"

"I'm two years your senior, I've been there, done that. And over the years you pick up organisational skills and so on. It's gonna be no biggie." Owain moved to kiss Inigo's neck and wow, he hadn't expected to be _this_ sensitive there, and when a small moan escaped his lips Owain just kissed him more, and now his hands were pulling at his hoodie's zipper and...

This was distracting.

But moving on way too fast.

But it felt good and right.

But now was not the time. It was too soon.

Inigo willed his hands to grasp Owain's wrists and held him there. He gulped, not wanting to disappoint or even anger his boyfriend. "No."

"Sorry," Owain breathed against his neck, kissing it once more. He raised his hands and let Inigo get up to face him. Owain's cheeks were just as pink as Inigo suspected his own to be. "You're hard to resist."

"Learn to control your urges."

"Promised."

"Good." Inigo grinned and Owain beamed back, Gerome and school projects forgotten. "Now let's make out some more."

* * *

Going home sucked. But it had never sucked as hard as it did today.

The sky had cleared up from the previous rain shower and the streets were reflecting the sunshine in angles that made Inigo narrow his eyes so he wouldn't go blind. But even if he would, Owain would be there (at least until Inigo had to board the train he hoped wouldn't come), holding his hand the whole time.

Some people were giving them dirty looks (and whenever anyone dared, Owain would stare them down and Inigo would squeeze his hand and everything would be all right again), but most didn't pay them any attention. It filled Inigo with confidence, and Gerome's... well, he hadn't really reacted, but that didn't meant it was negative either. He wouldn't make fun of him for _this_ , would he? Inigo hummed as he thought about this, Owain's thumb stroking his hand affectionately. No, Gerome wasn't _that_ horrible a friend.

So there would be no harm in telling his mother, right? She'd probably sigh but still be happy for him. She liked watching all these weird rom-com chick-flicks all the time anyway, and didn't, like, half of them focus on gay couples? Yeah, his mum would be cool with it. Buy him ten boxes worth of condoms or something to celebrate.

They weren't that far in the book yet...

Well. Whatever.

Somehow, Inigo found himself standing on the boarding platform already. Owain was still holding his hand, looking anywhere but at Inigo (the train schedule seemed to be more interesting).

"Something the matter?" Inigo asked.

Owain's voice was faint, the effect even more amplified by a train coming to a halt at another platform. "I don't want you to leave." He turned his head to look at Inigo with a pair of puppy eyes.

"I'll be back."

Owain flashed him a weak grin. "You sound like the Terminator."

"You watch too many movies."

"I'll make you watch all of them. Your education in pop culture is lacking."

"All my friends and my own cluelessness at their obscure references are reminder enough." Inigo smiled. "You can give me some recommendations and I can start... right after finishing my presentation."

"You should also ask your rick-roller friend. Sounds like she knows her way around the world wide web."

"Oh, you'd _so_ get along. Like, you two could talk hours on end with me sitting right next to you and I'd understand nothing."

Inigo grinned and Owain mirrored his expression. "We're gonna make you part of the club. And as a way to repay _me_ , at least, you teach me some sweet moves so we can have ourselves all-night dance parties at the underground palace a.k.a. ou-- my basement."

"Deal." A gust of wind blew through the station, and Inigo shivered a little. The hoodie he was wearing (Owain's favourite, but the blond swore it looked better on Inigo) was doing an otherwise excellent job of keeping him warm, and Owain pulling him into a hug was always a much-appreciated gesture.

"Seal it with a kiss?" Owain asked in whisper, almost lost in the whistle of the wind.

Inigo didn't answer. Instead, he pulled Owain towards him by his collar and initiated a kiss that turned passionate rather quickly. Another gust of wind blew by them, Owain's grip around Inigo's waist tightening at the same time the dreaded arrival of the train thundered down the platform.

Inigo pressed closer to Owain in a doomed attempt to make their embrace more intimate than possible. The hug was turning painful, not only emotionally, but physically. It felt like Owain was close to squishing Inigo's spine, and the boy didn't care. No, he'd rather suffer some injury that would send him to the hospital just so he would be able to spend a few more days with Owain.

But that was wishful thinking. And probably even on the "careful what you wish for" side of the scale.

The train's brakes screeched, and they parted, Inigo's lips feeling swollen from the intense kissing. Owain regarded him with an expression of open hurt, albeit there was an underlying smile Inigo didn't miss. He smiled in return, tears close, trying not to let it show.

"I don't think we're getting outta this deal easily," Owain tried to make light of the situation.

Inigo stifled a giggle. "Yeah. So." He looked over to the train coming to a halt next to them. "This is it."

"It's not the end, though," Owain said, handing Inigo his bag. "It's merely the beginning. Don't forget that." Inigo nodded, not trusting his voice. The doors of the train slid open. "Text me when you're home, all right?"

"Yes," was the whispered reply. Inigo pressed a quick peck to Owain's lips, grabbed his bag and turned to enter the train.

He hadn't expected to become the victim of his wildest nightmare's theme song again, Owain's voice an almost perfect rendition of Rick Astley's.

"We've known each other for so long.  
Your heart's been aching but  
You're too shy to say it.  
Inside, we both know what's been going on.  
We know the game and we're gonna play it.

"And if you ask me how I'm feeling  
Don't tell me you're too blind to see.  
"Never gonna give you up,  
Never gonna let y--"

Yes, going home sucked, but Inigo was gladder than ever that he could leave his dorky boyfriend, even if only until he was home again and turned on his computer.

And perhaps, Inigo tried to comfort himself, this had been Owain's plan all along, making the departure as easy on him as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me and reading, everyone! It's a big deal for me (and probably everyone else who ships Owain and Inigo) that this fic got more attention than I ever dreamed, lovely comments, and even a few bookmarks. It's important to me that people create fanwork for unpopular and underrated ships as well. The support I got from all of you is not only what keeps me going, but it also shows me that I made the right choice in writing a lengthy piece even though I knew from the start that recognition would be sparse. Again, there's not enough words to properly convey my thanks! u///u (...Aaand sorry for the rick-roll. I couldn't resist trolling everyone... please understand.)

**Author's Note:**

> hijackedbylou.tumblr.com


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